SONGS 

OF   TH6 

MEXICAN  •  S€HS 


•  JOKQVIN  -AMLLCR 


IRLF 


REESE   LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


t\C<  ( 


^ 


ccessions  No. 


class  No. 


SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS 


SONGS 


OF 


THE    MEXICAN    SEAS 


BY 


JOAQUIN    MILLER 

AUTHOR  OF   "SONGS  OF   THE   SIERRAS,"   "  SONGS  OF   ITALY, 
ETC. 


BOSTON 
ROBERTS   BROTHERS 

1887 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


•bo-t 


TO    A  B  B  I  E. 


NOTE.  —  The  lines  in  this  little  book,  as  in  all  my  others, 
were  written,  or  at  least  conceived,  in  the  lands  where 
the  scenes  are  laid  ;  so  that  whatever  may  be  said  of  the 
imperfections  of  my  work,  I  at  least  have  the  correct  atmos 
phere  and  color.  I  have  now  and  then  sent  forth  from 
Mexico,  and  from  remoter  shores  of  the  Gulf,  fragments  of 
these  thoughts  as  they  rounded  into  form,  and  some  of 
them  have  been  used  at  a  Dartmouth  College  Commence 
ment,  and  elsewhere  ;  but  as  a  whole  the  book  is  new. 

From  the  heart  of  the  Sierra,  where  I  once  more  hear  the 
awful  heart-throbs  of  Nature,  I  now  intrust  the  first  recep 
tion  of  these  lessons  entirely  to  my  own  country.  And 
may  I  not  ask  in  return,  now  at  the  last,  when  the  shad 
ows  begin  to  grow  long,  something  of  that  consideration 
which,  thus  far,  has  been  accorded  almost  entirely  by 
strangers  ? 

JOAQUIN  MILLER. 
MOUNT  SHASTA,  CALIFORNIA, 
A.D.18S7. 


SONGS 


XICAN  SEAS. 


THE   SEA   OF   FIEE. 

JN  that  far  land,  farther  than  Yucatan, 
Hondurian  height,  or  Mahogany  steep, 
Where  the  great  sea,  hollowed  by  the  hand  of  man 

Hears  deep  come  calling  across  to  deep  ; 
Where  the  great  seas  follow  in  the  grooves  of  men 
Down  under  the  bastions  of  Darien  : 


In  that  land  so  far  that  you  wonder  whether 

If  God  would  know  it  sJwuld  you  fall  down  dead  ; 

In  that  land  so  far  through  the  wilds  and  weatlier 
That  tlic  lost  sun  sinks  like  a  warrior  sped,  — 

Where  the  sea  and  the  sky  seem  closing  together, 
Seem  closing  together  as  a  book  that  is  read : 


10         SONGS   OF  THE^  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

In   that  nude  warm  world,  where   the  unnamed 
rivers 

Eoll  restless  in  cradles  of  bright  buried  gold  ; 
Where  white  flashing  mountains  flow  rivers  of  silver 

As  a  rock  of  the  desert  flowed  fountains  of  old  ; 
By  a  dark  wooded  river  that  calls  to  the  dawn, 
And  calls  all  day  with  his  dolorous  swan  : 

In  that  land  of  the  wonderful  sun  and  weather, 

With  green  under  foot  and  with  gold  over  head, 
Where    the    spent    sun   flames,    and    you   wonder 

whether 

'Tis  an  isle  of  fir  &  in  his  foamy  bed : 
Where  the  oceans  of  earth  shall  be  welded  together 
By  the  great  French  master  in  his  forge  flame 
red, — 


Lo !  the  half-finished  world  I      Yon  footfall    re 
treating,  — 

It  might  be  the  Maker  disturbed  at  his  task. 
But  the  footfall  of  God,  or  the  far  pheasant  beating, 

It  is  one  and  the  same,  whatever  the  mask 
It  may  wear  unto  man.     The  woods  keep  repeating 

The  old  sacred  sermons t  whatever  you  ask. 


TEE  SEA  OF  FIRE.  \\ 

The  brown-muzzled  cattle  come  stealthy  to  drink, 
Tlic  u'ild  forest  cattle,  luith  high  horns  as  trim 
As  the  elk  at  their  side  :  their  sleek  necks  are  slim 

And  alert  like  the  deer.    They  come,  then  they  shrink 
As  afraid  of  their  fellows,  of  shadow-beasts  seen 
In  the  deeps  of  the  dark-wooded  waters  of  green. 

It  is  man  in  his  garden,  scarce  wakened  as  yet 
From  the  sleep  that  fell  on  him  when  woman  was 

made. 
The  new-finished  garden  is  plastic  and  wet 

From  the  hand  that  has  fashioned  its  unpeopled 

shade  ; 

And  the  wonder  still  looks  from  the  fair  ivoman's  eyes 
As  she  shines  through  the  wood  like  the  light  from 
the  skies. 

And  a  ship  now  and  then  from  some  far  Ophirs 

shore 

Draws  in  from  the  sea.     It  lies  close  to  tlw  lank  ; 

Then  a  dull,muffled  sound  of  the  slow-shuffled  plank 

As  they  load  the  Hack  ship;  but  you  liear  nothing 

more, 

And  the  dark  dewy  vines,  and  tJie  tall  sombre  wood 
Like  twilight  droop  over  the  deep  sivceping  flood. 


12    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

The  black  masts  are  tangled  with  branches  that  cross, 
The  rich,  fragrant  gums  fall  from  branches  to 
deck, 

The  thin  ropes  are  swinging  with  streamers  of  moss 
That  mantle  all  things  like  the  shreds  of  a  wreck  ; 

The  long  mosses  swing,  there  is  never  a  breath  : 

The  river  rolls  still  as  the  river  of  death. 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  13 


I. 


TN"  the  beginning,  —  ay,  before 

The  six-days'  labors  were  well  o'er ; 
Yea,  while  the  world  lay  incomplete, 
Ere  God  had  opened  quite  the  door 
Of  this  strange  land  for  strong  men's  feet,  — 
There  lay  against  that  westmost  sea 
One  weird-wild  land  of  mystery. 

A  far  white  wall,  like  fallen  moon, 

Girt  out  the  world.     The  forest  lay 

So  deep  you  scarcely  saw  the  day, 

Save  in  the  high-held  middle  noon : 

It  lay  a  land  of  sleep  and  dreams, 

And  clouds  drew  through  like  shoreless  streams 

That  stretch  to  where  no  man  may  say. 

Men  reached  it  only  from  the  sea, 

By  black -built  ships,  that  seemed  to  creep 

Along  the  shore  suspiciously, 

Like  unnamed  monsters  of  the  deep. 


14    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

It  was  the  weirdest  land,  I  ween, 
That  mortal  eye  has  ever  seen : 

A  dim,  dark  land  of  bird  and  beast, 
Black  shaggy  beasts  with  cloven  claw,  — 
A  land  that  scarce  knew  prayer  or  priest, 
Or  law  of  man,  or  Nature's  law ; 
Where  no  fixed  line  drew  sharp  dispute 
'Twixt  savage  man  and  silent  brute. 


II. 


It  hath  a  history  most  fit 

For  cunning  hand  to  fashion  on ; 

No  chronicler  hath  mentioned  it ; 

No  buccaneer  set  foot  upon. 

'T  is  of  an  outlawed  Spanish  Don,  — 

A  cruel  man,  with  pirate's  gold 

That  loaded  down  his  deep  ship's  hold. 

A  deep  ship's  hold  of  plundered  gold  ! 
The  golden  cruise,  the  golden  cross, 
From  many  a  church  of  Mexico, 
From  Panama's  mad  overthrow, 


TEE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  15 

From  many  a  ransomed  city's  loss, 
From  many  a  follower  stanch  and  bold, 
And  many  a  foeman  stark  and  cold. 

He  found  this  wild,  lost  land.     He  drew 
His  ship  to  shore.     His  ruthless  crew, 
Like  Iiomulus,  laid  lawless  hand 
On  meek  brown  maidens  of  the  land, 
And  in  their  bloody  forays  bore 
Red  firebrands  along  the  shore. 


III. 


The  red  men  rose  at  night.     They  came, 
A  firm,  unflinching  wall  of  flame  ; 
They  swept,  as  sweeps  some  fateful  sea 
O'er  land  of  sand  and  level  shore 
That  howls  in  far,  fierce  agony. 
The  red  men  swept  that  deep,  dark  shore 
As  threshers  sweep  a  threshing-floor. 

And  yet  beside  the  slain  Don's  door 
They  left  his  daughter,  as  they  fled : 


16    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

They  spared  her  life,  because  she  bore 
Their  Chieftain's  blood  and  name.     The  red 
And  blood-stained  hidden  hoards  of  gold 
They  hollowed  from  the  stout  ship's  hold, 
And  bore  in  many  a  slim  canoe  — 
To  where  ?     The  good  priest  only  knew. 


IV. 


The  course  of  life  is  like  the  sea : 
Men  come  and  go  ;  tides  rise  and  fall ; 
And  that  is  all  of  history. 
The  tide  flows  in,  flows  out  to-day,  — 
And  that  is  all  that  man  may  say ; 
Man  is,  man  was,  —  and  that  is  all. 

Eevenge  at  last  came  like  a  tide,  — 
'T  was  sweeping,  deep,  and  terrible ; 
The  Christian  found  the  land,  and  came 
To  take  possession  in  Christ's  name. 
For  every  white  man  that  had  died 
I  think  a  thousand  red  men  fell,  — 
A  Christian  custom ;  and  the  land 
Lay  lifeless  as  some  burned-out  brand. 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  17 


V. 


Ere  while  the  slain  Don's  daughter  grew 
A  glorious  thing,  a  flower  of  spring, 
A  lithe  slim  reed,  a  sun-loved  weed, 
A  something  more  than  mortal  knew  ; 
A  mystery  of  grace  and  face,  — 
A  silent  mystery  that  stood 
An  empress  in  that  sea-set  wood, 
Supreme,  imperial  in  her  place. 

It  might  have  been  men's  lust  for  gold,  — 
For  all  men  knew  that  lawless  crew 
Left  hoards  of  gold  in  that  ship's  hold, 
That  drew  ships  hence,  and  silent  drew 
Strange  Jasons  to  that  steep  wood  shore, 
As  if  to  seek  that  hidden  store,  — 
I  never  either  cared  or  knew. 

I  say  it  might  have  heen  this  gold 
That  ever  drew  and  strangely  drew 
Strong  men  of  land,  strange  men  of  sea, 
To  seek  this  shore  of  mystery 
With  all  its  wondrous  tales  untold : 


18         SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

The  gold  or  her,  which  of  the  two  ? 
It  matters  not ;  I  never  knew. 

But  this  I  know,  that  as  for  me, 
Between  that  face  and  the  hard  fate 
That  kept  me  ever  from  my  own, 
As  some  wronged  monarch  from  his  throne, 
God's  heaped-up  gold  of  land  or  sea 
Had  never  weighed  one  feather's  weight. 

Her  home  was  on  the  wooded  height,  — 
A  woody  home,  a  priest  at  prayer, 
A  perfume  in  the  fervid  air, 

X 

And  angels  watching  her  at  night. 
I  can  but  think  upon  the  skies 
That  bound  that  other  Paradise. 


VI. 


Below  a  star-built  arch,  as  grand 

As  ever  bended  heaven  spanned  ; 

Tall  trees  like  mighty  columns  grew  — 

They  loomed  as  if  to  pierce  the  blue, 

They  reached  as  reaching  heaven  through. 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  19 

The  shadowed  stream  rolled  far  below, 
Where  men  moved  noiseless  to  and  fro 
As  in  some  vast  cathedral,  when 
The  calm  of  prayer  comes  to  men, 
With  benedictions,  bending  low. 

Lo !  wooded  sea-banks,  wild  and  steep ! 
A  trackless  wood ;  a  snowy  cone 
That  lifted  from  this  wood  alone  ! 
This  wild  wide  river,  dark  and  deep  ! 
A  ship  against  the  shore  asleep  ! 

VII. 

An  Indian  woman  crept,  a  crone, 
Hard  by  about  the  land  alone, 
The  relic  of  her  perished  race. 
She  wore  rich,  rudely-fashioned  bands 
Of  gold  above  her  bony  hands : 
She  hissed  hot  curses  on  the  place  ! 

VIII. 

Go  seek  the  red  man's  last  retreat ! 
A  lonesome  land,  the  haunted  lands  ! 


20         SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Bed  mouths  of  beasts,  red  men's  red  hands : 
Eed  prophet-priest,  in  mute  defeat ! 

His  boundaries  in  blood  are  writ ! 
His  land  is  ghostland  !     That  is  his, 
Whatever  man  may  claim  of  this  ; 
Beware  how  you  shall  enter  it ! 
He  stands  God's  guardian  of  ghostlands ; 
Ay,  this  same  wrapped  half-prophet  stands 
All  nude  and  voiceless,  nearer  to 
The  awful  God  than  I  or  you. 


IX. 


This  bronzed  child,  by  that  river's  brink, 
Stood  fair  to  see  as  you  can  think, 
As  tall  as  tall  reeds  at  her  feet, 
As  fresh  as  flowers  in  her  hair  ; 
As  sweet  as  flowers  over-sweet, 
As  fair  as  vision  more  than  fair  ! 

How  beautiful  she  was !     How  wild ! 
How  pure  as  water-plant,  this  child,  — 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  21 

This  one  wild  child  of  Nature  here 
Grown  tall  in  shadows. 

And  how  near 

To  God,  where  no  man  stood  between 
Her  eyes  and  scenes  no  man  hath  seen,  — 
This  maiden  that  so  mutely  stood, 
The  one  lone  woman  of  that  wood. 

Stop  still,  my  friend,  and  do  not  stir, 
Shut  close  your  page  and  think  of  her. 
The  birds  sang  sweeter  for  her  face  ; 
Her  lifted  eyes  were  like  a  grace 
To  seamen  of  that  solitude, 
However  rough,  however  rude. 

The  rippled  rivers  of  her  hair, 
That  ran  in  wondrous  waves,  somehow 
Flowed  down  divided  by  her  brow,  — 
Half  mantled  her  within  its  care, 
And  flooded  all,  or  bronze  or  snow, 
In  its  uncommon  fold  and  flow. 

A  perfume  and  an  incense  lay 
Before  her,  as  an  incense  sweet 

Before  blithe  mowers  of  sweet  May 

.^- — ~  ~— *^ 

/&&&  [  IR*4/?J> 
f  UNIVERSITY] 

FORN\^ 


22    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

In  early  morn.     Her  certain  feet 
Embarked  on  no  uncertain  way. 

Come,  think  how  perfect  before  men, 
How  sweet  as  sweet  magnolia  bloom 
Embalmed  in  dews  of  morning,  when 
Eich  sunlight  leaps  from  midnight  gloom 
Eesolved  to  kiss,  and  swift  to  kiss 
Ere  yet  morn  wakens  man  to  bliss. 


X. 

The  days  swept  on.     Her  perfect  year 
Was  with  her  now.     The  sweet  perfume 
Of  womanhood  in  holy  bloom, 
As  when  red  harvest  blooms  appear, 
Possessed  her  now.     The  priest  did  pray 
That  saints  alone  should  pass  that  way. 

A  red  bird  built  beneath  her  roof, 
Brown  squirrels  crossed  her  cabin  sill, 
And  welcome  came  or  went  at  will. 
A  hermit  spider  wove  his  web, 
And  up  against  the  roof  would  spin 
His  net  to  catch  mosquitoes  in. 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  23 

The  silly  elk,  the  spotted  fawn, 

And  all  dumb  beasts  that  came  to  drink, 

That  stealthy  stole  upon  the  brink 

In  that  dim  while  that  lies  between 

The  coming  night  and  going  dawn, 

On  seeing  her  familiar  face 

Would  fearless  stop  and  stand  in  place. 

She  was  so  kind,  the  beasts  of  night 
Gave  her  the  road  as  if  her  right ; 
The  panther  crouching  overhead 
In  sheen  of  moss  would  hear  her  tread 
And  bend  his  eyes,  but  never  stir 
Lest  he  by  chance  might  frighten  her. 

Yet  in  her  splendid  strength,  her  eyes, 

There  lay  the  lightning  of  the  skies ; 

The  love-hate  of  the  lioness, 

To  kill  the  instant,  or  caress : 

A  pent-up  soul  that  sometimes  grew 

Impatient ;  why,  she  hardly  knew. 

At  last  she  sighed,  uprose,  and  threw 
Her  strong  arms  out  as  if  to  hand 


24         SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Her  love,  sun-born  and  all  complete 
At  birth,  to  some  brave  lover's  feet 
On  some  far,  fair,  and  unseen  land, 
As  knowing  now  not  what  to  do  ! 

XI. 

How  beautiful  she  was  !     Why,  she 
Was  inspiration  !     She  was  born 
To  walk  God's  summer  hills  at  morn, 
Nor  waste  her  by  this  wood-dark  sea. 
What  wonder,  then,  her  soul's  white  wings 
Beat  at  its  bars,  like  living  things ! 

Once  more  she  sighed !     She  wandered  through 

The  sea-bound  wood,  then  stopped  and  drew 

Her  hand  above  her  face,  and  swept 

The  lonesome  sea,  and  all  day  kept 

Her  face  to  sea,  as  if  she  knew 

Some  day,  some  near  or  distant  day, 

Her  destiny  should  come  that  way. 

XII. 

How  proud  she  was  !    How  darkly  fair  ! 
How  full  of  faith,  of  love,  of  strength  ! 


THE   SEA   OF  FIRE.  25 

Her  calm,  proud  eyes !    Her  great  hair's 

length,  — 

Her  long,  strong,  tumbled,  careless  hair, 
Half  curled  and  knotted  anywhere, 
From  brow  to  breast,  from  cheek  to  chin, 
For  love  to  trip  and  tangle  in  ! 


XIII. 

At  last  a  tall  strange  sail  was  seen  : 
It  came  so  slow,  so  wearily, 
Came  creeping  cautious  up  the  sea, 
As  if  it  crept  from  out  between 
The  half-closed  sea  and  sky  that  lay 
Tight  wedged  together,  far  away. 

She  watched  it,  wooed  it.     She  did  pray 
It  might  not  pass  her  by,  but  bring 
Some  love,  some  hate,  some  anything, 
To  break  the  awful  loneliness 
That  like  a  nightly  nightmare  lay 
Upon  her  proud  and  pent-up  soul 
Until  it  barely  brooked  control. 


26    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

XIV. 

The  ship  crept  silent  up  the  sea, 
And  came  — 

You  cannot  understand 
How  fair  she  was,  how  sudden  she 
Had  sprung,  full-grown,  to  womanhood : 
How  gracious,  yet  how  proud  and  grand ; 
How  glorified,  yet  fresh  and  free, 
How  human,  yet  how  more  than  good. 

XV. 

The  ship  stole  slowly,  slowly  on  ;  — 
Should  you  in  Californian  field 
In  ample  flower-time  behold 
The  soft  south  rose  lift  like  a  shield 
Against  the  sudden  sun  at  dawn, 
A  double  handful  of  heaped  gold, 
Why  you,  perhaps,  might  understand 
How  splendid  and  how  queenly  she 
Uprose  beside  that  wood-set  sea. 

The  storm-worn  ship  scarce  seemed  to  creep 
From  wave  to  wave.     It  scarce  could  keep  - 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  27 

How  still  this  fair  girl  stood,  how  fair  ! 

How  proud  her  presence  as  she  stood 

Between  that  vast  sea  and  west  wood  ! 

How  large  and  liberal  her  soul, 

How  confident,  how  purely  chare, 

How  trusting ;  how  untried  the  whole 

Great  heart,  grand  faith,  that  blossomed  there ! 


XVI. 

Ay,  she  was  as  Madonna  to 

The  tawny,  lawless,  faithful  few 

Who  touched  her  hand  and  knew  her  soul 

She  drew  them,  drew  them  as  the  pole 

Points  all  things  to  itself. 

She  drew 

Men  upward  as  a  moon  of  spring, 
High  wheeling,  vast  and  bosom-full, 
Half  clad  in  clouds  and  white  as  wool, 
Draws  all  the  strong  seas  following. 

Yet  still  she  moved  as  sad,  as  lone 
As  that  same  moon  that  leans  above, 
And  seems  to  search  high  heaven  through 


28    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

For  some  strong,  all-sufficient  love, 
For  one  brave  love  to  be  her  own, 
To  lean  upon,  to  love,  to  woo, 
To  lord  her  high  white  world,  to  yield 
His  clashing  sword  against  her  shield. 

Oh,  I  once  knew  a  sad,  white  dove 
That  died  for  such  sufficient  love, 
Such  high-born  soul  with  wings  to  soar 
That  stood  up  equal  in  its  place, 
That  looked  love  level  in  the  face, 
Nor  wearied  love  with  leaning  o'er 
To  lift  love  level  where  she  trod 
In  sad  delight  the  hills  of  God. 


XVII. 

How  slow  before  the  sleeping  breeze, 
That  stranger  ship  from  under  seas  ! 
How  like  to  Dido  by  her  sea, 
When  reaching  arms  imploringly,  — 
Her  large,  round,  rich,  impassioned  arms, 
Tossed  forth  from  all  her  storied  charms, 
This  one  lone  maiden  leaning  stood 
Above  that  sea,  beside  the  wood ! 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  29 

The  ship  crept  strangely  up  the  seas ; 

Her  shrouds  seemed  shreds,  her  masts  seemed 

trees,  — 

Strange  tattered  trees  of  toughest  bough 
That  knew  no  cease  of  storm  till  now. 
The  maiden  pitied  her ;  she  prayed 
Her  crew  might  come,  nor  feel  afraid  ; 
She  prayed  the  winds  might  come,  —  they  came, 
As  birds  that  answer  to  a  name. 

The  maiden  held  her  blowing  hair 

That  bound  her  beauteous  self  about ; 

The  sea-winds  housed  within  her  hair : 

She  let  it  go,  it  blew  in  rout 

About  her  bosom  full  and  bare. 

Her  round,  full  arms  were  free  as  air, 

Her  high  hands  clasped,  as  clasped  in  prayer. 

XVIII. 

The  breeze  grew  bold,  the  battered  ship 
Began  to  flap  her  weary  wings ; 
The  tall,  torn  masts  began  to  dip 
And  walk  the  wave  like  living  things. 
She  rounded  in,  she  struck  the  stream, 
She  moved  like  some  majestic  dream. 


30    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

The  captain  kept  her  deck.     He  stood 
A  Hercules  among  his  men; 
And  now  he  watched  the  sea,  and  then 
He  peered  as  if  to  pierce  the  wood. 
He  now  looked  back,  as  if  pursued, 
Now  swept  the  sea  with  glass,  as  though 
He  fled  or  feared  some  hidden  foe. 

Swift  sailing  up  the  river's  mouth, 

Swift  tacking  north,  swift  tacking  south, 

He  touched  the  overhanging  wood ; 

He  tacked  his  ship ;  his  tall  black  mast 

Touched  tree-top  mosses  as  he  passed  ; 

He  touched  the  steep  shore  where  she  stood. 


XIX. 

Her  hands  still  clasped  as  if  in  prayer, 
Sweet  prayer  set  to  silentness  ; 
Her  sun-browned  throat  uplifted,  bare 
And  beautiful. 

Her  eager  face 

Illumed  with  love  and  tenderness, 
And  all  her  presence  gave  such  grace, 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  31 

Dark  shadowed  in  her  cloud  of  hair, 
That  she  seemed  more  than  mortal  fair. 


He  saw.     He  could  not  speak.     No  more 
With  lifted  glass  he  sought  the  sea ; 
No  more  he  watched  the  wild  new  shore. 
Now  foes  might  come,  now  friends  might  flee  ; 
He  could  not  speak,  he  would  not  stir,  — 
He  saw  but  her,  he  feared  but  her. 

The  black  ship  ground  against  the  shore, 
She  ground  against  the  bank  as  one 
With  long  and  weary  journeys  done, 
That  would  not  rise  to  journey  more. 

Yet  still  this  Jason  silent  stood 
And  gazed  against  that  sun-lit  wood, 
As  one  whose  soul  is  anywhere. 

All  seemed  so  fair,  so  wondrous  fair  ! 
At  last  aroused,  he  stepped  to  land 
Like  some  Columbus.     They  laid  hand 
On  lands  and  fruits,  and  rested  there. 


32    SONGS  OF  TEE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

XXI. 

He  found  all  fairer  than  fair  mom 
In  sylvan  land,  where  waters  run 
With  downward  leap  against  the  sun, 
And  full-grown  sudden  May  is  born. 
He  found  her  taller  than  tall  corn 
Tiptoe  in  tassel;  found  her  sweet 
As  vale  where  bees  of  Hybla  meet. 

An  unblown  rose,  an  unread  book ; 
A  wonder  in  her  wondrous  eyes  ; 
A  large,  religious,  steadfast  look 
Of  faith,  of  trust,  —  the  look  of  one 
New  welcomed  in  her  Paradise. 

He  read  this  book,  —  read  on  and  on 
From  titlepage  to  colophon  : 
As  in  cool  woods,  some  summer  day, 
You  find  delight  in  some  sweet  lay, 
And  so  entranced  read  on  and  on 
From  titlepage  to  colophon. 

XXII. 

And  who  was  he  that  rested  there,  — 
This  Hercules,  so  huge,  so  rare, 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  33 

This  giant  of  a  grander  day, 
This  Theseus  of  a  nobler  Greece, 
This  Jason  of  the  golden  fleece  ? 
And  who  was  he  ?     And  who  were  they 
That  came  to  seek  the  hidden  gold 
Long  hallowed  from  the  pirate's  hold? 
I  do  not  know.     You  need  not  care. 


They  loved,  this  maiden  and  this  man, 
And  that  is  all  I  surely  know,  — 
The  rest  is  as  the  winds  that  blow. 
He  bowed  as  brave  men  bow  to  fate, 
Yet  proud  and  resolute  and  bold  ; 
She,  coy  at  first,  and  mute  and  cold, 
Held  back  and  seemed  to  hesitate,  — 
Half  frightened  at  this  love  that  ran 
Hard  gallop  till  her  hot  heart  beat 
Like  sounding  of  swift  courser's  feet. 

XXIII. 

Two  strong  streams  of  a  land  must  run 

Together  surely  as  the  sun 

Succeeds  the  moon.     Who  shall  gainsay 

3 


34    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

The  fates  that  reign,  that  wisely  reign  ? 
Love  is,  love  was,  shall  be  again. 
Like  death,  inevitable  it  is ; 
Perchance,  like  death,  the  dawn  of  bliss. 
Let  us,  then,  love  the  perfect  day, 
The  twelve  o'clock  of  life,  and  stop 
The  two  hands  pointing  to  the  top, 
And  hold  them  tightly  while  we  may. 


XXIV. 

How  piteous  strange  is  love !     The  walks 
By  wooded  ways ;  the  silent  talks 
Beneath  the  broad  and  fragrant  bough. 
The  dark  deep  wood,  the  dense  black  dell, 
Where  scarce  a  single  gold  beam  fell 
From  out  the  sun. 

They  rested  now 

On  mossy  trunk.     They  wandered  then 
Where  never  fell  the  feet  of  men. 

Then  longer  walks,  then  deeper  woods, 
Then  sweeter  talks,  sufficient  sweet, 
In  denser,  deeper  solitudes,  — 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  35 

Dear  careless  ways  for  careless  feet ; 
Sweet  talks  of  paradise  for  two, 
And  only  two,  to  watch  or  woo. 

She  rarely  spake.     All  seemed  a  dream 
She  would  not  waken  from.     She  lay 
All  night  but  waiting  for  the  day, 
When  she  might  see  his  face,  and  deem 
This  man,  with  all  his  perils  passed, 
Had  found  the  Lotus-land  at  last. 


xxv. 

The  year  waxed  fervid,  and  the  sun 
Fell  central  down.     The  forest  lay 
A-quiver  in  the  heat.     The  sea 
Below  the  steep  bank  seemed  to  run 
A  molten  sea  of  gold. 

Away 

Against  the  gray  and  rock-built  isles 
That  broke  the  molten  watery  miles 
Where  lonesome  sea-cows  called  all  day, 
The  sudden  sun  smote  angrily. 


36  SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Therefore  the  need  of  deeper  deeps, 
Of  denser  shade  for  man  and  maid, 
Of  higher  heights,  of  cooler  steeps, 
Where  all  day  long  the  sea-wind  stayed. 

They  sought  the  rock-reared  steep.     The  breeze 

Swept  twenty  thousand  miles  of  seas ; 

Had  twenty  thousand  things  to  say 

Of  love,  of  lovers  of  Cathay, 

To  lovers  'mid  these  high-held  trees. 


XXVI. 

To  left,  to  right,  below  the  height, 
Below  the  wood  by  wave  and  stream, 
Plumed  pampas  grasses  grew  to  gleam 
And  bend  their  lordly  plumes,  and  run 
And  shake,  as  if  in  very  fright 
Before  sharp  lances  of  the  sun. 

They  saw  the  tide-bound  battered  ship 
Creep  close  below  against  the  bank  ; 
They  saw  it  cringe  and  shrink  ;  it  shrank 
As  shrinks  some  huge  black  beast  with  fear 
When  some  uncommon  dread  is  near. 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  37 

They  heard  the  melting  resin  drip, 

As  drip  the  last  brave  blood-drops  when 

Life's  battle  waxes  hot  with  men. 


XXVII. 

Yet  what  to  her  were  burning  seas, 
Or  what  to  him  was  forest  flame  ? 
They  loved ;  they  loved  the  glorious  trees, 
The  gleaming  tides,  or  rise  or  fall ; 
They  loved  the  lisping  winds  that  came 
From  sea-lost  spice-set  isles  unknown, 
With  breath  not  warmer  than  their  own : 
They  loved,  they  loved,  —  and  that  was  all. 


XXVIII. 

Full  noon !     Below  the  ancient  moss 
With  mighty  boughs  high  clanged  across, 
The  man  with  sweet  words,  over-sweet, 
Fell  pleading,  plaintive,  at  her  feet. 

He  spake  of  love,  of  boundless  love,  — 
Of  love  that  knew  no  other  land, 


38    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Or  face,  or  place,  or  anything ; 

Of  love  that  like  the  wearied  dove 

Could  light  nowhere,  but  kept  the  wing 

Till  she  alone  put  forth  her  hand, 

And  so  received  it  in  her  ark 

From  seas  that  shake  against  the  dark ! 

He  clasped  her  hands,  climbed  past  her  knees, 
Forgot  her  hands  and  kissed  her  hair,  — 
The  while  her  two  hands  clasped  in  prayer, 
And  fair  face  lifted  to  the  trees. 

Her  proud  breast  heaved,  her  pure  proud  breast 

Eose  like  the  waves  in  their  unrest 

When  counter  storms  possess  the  seas. 

Her  mouth,  her  arched,  uplifted  mouth, 

Her  ardent  mouth  that  thirsted  so,  — 

No  glowing  love-song  of  the  South 

Can  say ;  no  man  can  say  or  know 

The  glory  there,  and  so  live  on 

Content  without  that  glory  gone  ! 

Her  face  still  lifted  up.     And  she 
Disdained  the  cup  of  passion  he 
Hard  pressed  her  panting  lips  to  touch. 


TUE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  39 

She  dashed  it  by  despised,  and  she 

Caught  fast  her  breath.     She  trembled  much, 

And  sudden  rose  full  height,  and  stood 

An  empress  in  high  womanhood  : 

She  stood  a  tower,  tall  as  when 

Proud  Roman  mothers  suckled  men 

Of  old-time  truth  and  taught  them  such. 


XXIX. 

Her  soul  surged  vast  as  space  is.     She 
Was  trembling  as  a  courser  when 
His  thin  flank  quivers,  and  his  feet 
Touch  velvet  on  the  turf,  and  he 
Is  all  afoam,  alert,  and  fleet 
As  sunlight  glancing  on  the  sea, 
And  full  of  triumph  before  men. 

At  last  she  bended  some  her  face, 
Half  leaned,  then  put  him  back  a  pace, 
And  met  his  eyes. 

Calm,  silently 

Her  eyes  looked  deep  into  his  eyes,  — 
As  maidens  down  some  mossy  well 


40    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Do  peer  in  hope  by  chance  to  tell 
By  image  there  what  future  lies 
Before  them,  and  what  face  shall  be 
The  pole-star  of  their  destiny. 

Pure  Nature's  lover  !     Loving  him 

With  love  that  made  all  pathways  dim 

And  difficult  where  he  was  not,  — 

Then  marvel  not  at  form  forgot. 

And  who  shall  chide  ?    Doth  priest  know  aught 

Of  sign,  or  holy  unction  brought 

From  over  seas,  that  ever  can 

Make  man  love  maid  or  maid  love  man 

One  whit  the  more,  one  bit  the  less, 

For  all  his  mummeries  to  bless  ? 

Yea,  all  his  blessing  or  his  ban  ? 

The  winds  breathed  warm  as  Araby  : 
She  leaned  upon  his  breast,  she  lay 
A  wide-winged  swan  with  folded  wing. 
He  drowned  his  hot  face  in  her  hair, 
He  heard  her  great  heart  rise  and  sing ; 
He  felt  her  bosom  swell. 

The  air 
Swooned  sweet  with  perfume  of  her  form. 


THE  SEA   OF  FIEE.  41 

Her  breast  was  warm,  her  breath  was  warm, 
And  warm  her  warm  and  perfumed  mouth 
As  summer  journeys  through  the  South. 


XXX. 

The  argent  sea  surged  steep  below, 
Surged  languid  in  a  tropic  glow  ; 
And  two  great  hearts  kept  surging  so ! 

The  fervid  kiss  of  heaven  lay 
Precipitate  on  wood  and  sea. 
Two  great  souls  glowed  with  ecstasy, 
The  sea  glowed  scarce  as  warm  as  they. 


XXXI. 

'T  was  love's  low  amber  afternoon. 
Two  far-off  pheasants  thrummed  a  tune, 
A  cricket  clanged  a  restful  air. 
The  dreamful  billows  beat  a  rune 
Like  heart  regrets. 

Around  her  head 
There  shone  a  halo.     Men  have  said 


42          SONQS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

'T  was  from  a  dash  of  Titian 
That  flooded  all  her  storm  of  hair 
In  gold  and  glory.     Bnt  they  knew, 
Yea,  all  men  know  there  ever  grew 
A  halo  round  about  her  head 
Like  sunlight  scarcely  vanished. 


XXXII. 

How  still  she  was  !     She  only  knew 

His  love.     She  saw  no  life  beyond. 

She  loved  with  love  that  only  lives 

Outside  itself  and  selfishness,  — 

A  love  that  glows  in  its  excess  ; 

A  love  that  melts  pure  gold,  and  gives 

Thenceforth  to  all  who  come  to  woo 

No  coins  but  this  face  stamped  thereon, 

Ay,  this  one  image  stamped  upon 

Its  face,  with  some  dim  date  long  gone. 

XXXIII. 

They  kept  the  headland  high ;  the  ship 
Below  began  to  chafe  her  chain, 


THE  SEA   OF  FIEE.  43 

To  groan  as  some  great  beast  in  pain  ; 
While  white  fear  leapt  from  lip  to  lip : 
"  The  woods  are  fire  !  the  woods  are  flame  ! 
Come  down  and  save  us,  in  God's  name  ! " 


He  heard  !  he  did  not  speak  or  stir,  — 
He  thought  of  her,  of  only  her. 
While  flames  behind,  before  them  lay 
To  hold  the  stoutest  heart  at  bay  ! 


Strange  sounds  were  heard  far  up  the  flood,  — 
Strange,  savage  sounds  that  chilled  the  blood ! 
Then  sudden  from  the  dense  dark  wood 
Above,  about  them  where  they  stood 
A  thousand  beasts  came  peering  out ; 
And  now  was  thrust  a  long  black  snout, 
And  now  a  tusky  mouth.     It  was 
A  sight  to  make  the  stoutest  pause. 


"  Cut  loose  the  ship  ! "  the  black  mate  cried  ; 
"  Cut  loose  the  ship  !  "  the  crew  replied. 
They  drove  into  the  sea.     It  lay 
As  light  as  ever  middle  day. 


44    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

The  while  their  half-blind  bitch,  that  sat 
All  slobber-mouthed,  and  monkish  cowled 
With  great,  broad,  floppy,  leathern  ears, 
Arnid  the  men,  rose  up  and  howled, 
And  doleful  howled  her  plaintive  fears, 
While  all  looked  mute  aghast  thereat. 
It  was  the  grimmest  eve,  I  think, 
That  ever  hung  on  Hades'  brink. 

Great  broad-winged  bats  possessed  the  air, 
Bats  whirling  blindly  everywhere ; 
It  was  such  troubled  twilight  eve 
As  never  mortal  would  believe. 


XXXIV. 

Some  say  the  crazed  hag  lit  the  wood 

In  circle  where  the  lovers  stood ; 

Some  say  the  gray  priest  feared  the  crew 

Might  find  at  last  the  hoard  of  gold 

Long  hidden  from  the  black  ship's  hold,  — 

I  doubt  me  if  men  ever  knew. 

But  such  mad,  howling,  flame-lit  shore 

No  mortal  ever  saw  before. 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  45 

Huge  beasts  above  that  shining  sea, 
Wild,  hideous  beasts  with  shaggy  hair, 
With  red  mouths  lifting  in  the  air, 
They  piteous  howled,  and  plaintively,  — 
The  wildest  sounds,  the  weirdest  sight 
That  ever  shook  the  walls  of  night. 

How  lorn  they  howled,  with  lifted  head, 
To  dim  and  distant  isles  that  lay 
Wedged  tight  along  a  line  of  red, 
Caught  in  the  closing  gates  of  day 
'Twixt  sky  and  sea  and  far  away,  — 
It  was  the  saddest  sound  to  hear 
That  ever  struck  on  human  ear. 

They  doleful  called ;  and  answered  they 
The  plaintive  sea-cows  far  away,  — 
The  great  sea-cows  that  called  from  isles, 
Away  across  wide  watery  miles, 
With  dripping  mouths  and  lolling  tongue, 
As  if  they  called  for  captured  young,  — 

The  huge  sea-cows  that  called  the  whiles 
Their  great  wide  mouths  were  mouthing  moss ; 
And  still  they  doleful  called  across 


46          SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

From  isles  beyond  the  watery  miles. 
No  sound  can  half  so  doleful  be 
As  sea-cows  calling  from  the  sea. 


XXXV. 

The  drowned  sun  sank  and  died.     He  lay 
In  seas  of  blood.     He  sinking  drew 
The  gates  of  sunset  sudden  to, 
Where  shattered  day  in  fragments  lay, 
And  night  came,  moving  in  mad  flame  : 
The  night  came,  lighted  as  he  came, 
As  lighted  by  high  summer  sun 
Descending  through  the  burning  blue. 
It  was  a  gold  and  amber  hue, 
And  all  hues  blended  into  one. 
The  night  spilled  splendor  where  she  came, 
And  filled  the  yellow  world  with  flame. 


The  moon  came  on,  came  leaning  low 
Along  the  far  sea-isles  aglow ; 
She  fell  along  that  amber  flood 
A  silver  flame  in  seas  of  blood. 


THE   SEA   OF  FIRE.  47 


It  was  the  strangest  moon,  ah  me 
That  ever  settled  on  God's  sea. 


XXXVI. 

Slim  snakes  slid  down  from  fern  and  grass, 
From  wood,  from  fen,  from  anywhere  ; 
You  could  not  step,  you  would  not  pass, 
And  you  would  hesitate  to  stir, 
Lest  in  some  sudden,  hurried  tread 
Your  foot  struck  some  unbruised  head  : 

They  slid  in  streams  into  the  stream,  — 
It  seemed  like  some  infernal  dream ; 
They  curved,  and  graceful  curved  across, 
Like  graceful,  waving  sea-green  moss,  — 
There  is  no  art  of  man  can  make 
A  ripple  like  a  rippling  snake ! 

XXXVII. 

Abandoned,  lorn,  the  lovers  stood, 
Abandoned  there,  death  in  the  air  ! 
That  beetling  steep,  that  blazing  wood,  — 
Hod  flame  !  and  red  flame  everywhere  ! 


48    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Yet  was  he  born  to  strive,  to  bear 
The  front  of  battle.     He  would  die 
In  noble  effort,  and  defy 
The  grizzled  visage  of  despair. 

He  threw  his  two  strong  arms  full  length 
As  if  to  surely  test  their  strength ; 
Then  tore  his  vestments,  textile  things 
That  could  but  tempt  the  demon  wings 
Of  flame  that  girt  them  round  about, 
Then  threw  his  garments  to  the  air 
As  one  that  laughed  at  death,  at  doubt, 
And  like  a  god  stood  grand  and  bare. 

She  did  not  hesitate ;  she  knew 
The  need  of  action  ;  swift  she  threw 
Her  burning  vestments  by,  and  bound 
Her  wondrous  wealth  of  hair  that  fell 
An  all-concealing  cloud  around 
Her  glorious  presence,  as  he  came 
To  seize  and  bear  her  through  the  flame,  — 
An  Orpheus  out  of  burning  hell ! 

He  leaned  above  her,  wound  his  arm 
About  her  splendor,  while  the  noon 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  49 

Of  flood-tide,  manhood,  flushed  his  face, 
And  high  flames  leapt  the  high  headland  !  — 
They  stood  as  twin-hewn  statues  stand, 
High  lifted  in  some  storied  place. 

He  clasped  her  close,  he  spoke  of  death,  — 
Of  death  and  love  in  the  same  breath. 
He  clasped  her  close ;  her  bosom  lay 
Like  ship  safe  anchored  in  some  bay. 


XXXVIII. 

The  flames  !    They  could  not  stand  or  stay ; 

Before  the  beetling  steep,  the  sea  ! 

But  at  his  feet  a  narrow  way, 

A  short  steep  path,  pitched  suddenly 

Safe  open  to  the  river's  beach, 

Where  lay  a  small  white  isle  in  reach,  — 

A  small,  white,  rippled  isle  of  sand 

Where  yet  the  two  might  safely  land. 

And  there,  through  smoke  and  flame,  behold 
The  priest  stood  safe,  yet  all  appalled  ! 
He  reached  the  cross ;  he  cried,  he  called ; 
He  waved  his  high-held  cross  of  gold. 

4 


50    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

He  called  and  called,  he  bade  them  fly 
Through  flames  to  him,  nor  bide  and  die ! 

Her  lover  saw ;  he  saw,  and  knew 

His  giant  strength  would  bear  her  through. 

And  yet  he  would  not  start  or  stir. 

He  clasped  her  close  as  death  can  hold, 

Or  dying  miser  clasp  his  gold,  — 

His  hold  became  a  part  of  her. 

He  would  not  give  her  up !     He  would 
Not  bear  her  waveward  though  he  could ! 
That  height  was  heaven  ;  the  wave  was  hell. 
He  clasped  her  close,  —  what  else  had  done 
The  manliest  man  beneath  the  sun  ? 
Was  it  not  well  ?  was  it  not  well  ? 

0  man,  be  glad !  be  grandly  glad, 
And  kinglike  walk  thy  ways  of  death ! 
For  more  than  years  of  bliss  you  had 
That  one  brief  time  you  breathed  her  breath. 
Yea,  more  than  years  upon  a  throne 
That  one  brief  time  you  held  her  fast, 
Soul  surged  to  soul,  vehement,  vast,  — 
True  breast  to  breast,  and  all  your  own. 


THE  SEA  OF  FIEE.  51 

Live  me  one  day,  one  narrow  night, 
One  second  of  supreme  delight 
Like  that,  and  I  will  blow  like  chaff 
The  hollow  years  aside,  and  laugh 
A  loud  triumphant  laugh,  and  I, 
King-like  and  crowned,  will  gladly  die. 

Oh,  but  to  wrap  my  love  with  flame ! 
"With  flame  within,  with  flame  without ! 
Oh,  but  to  die  like  this,  nor  doubt  — 
To  die  and  know  her  still  the  same ! 
To  know  that  down  the  ghostly  shore 
Snow-white  she  waits  me  evermore ! 


XXXIX. 

He  poised  her,  held  her  high  in  air,  — 

His  great  strong  limbs,  his  great  arm's  length !  — 

Then  turned  his  knotted  shoulders  bare 

As  birth-time  in  his  splendid  strength, 

And  strode,  strode  with  a  lordly  stride 

To  where  the  high  and  wood-hung  edge 

Looked  down,  far  down  upon  the  molten  tide. 

The  flames  leapt  with  him  to  the  ledge, 

The  flames  leapt  leering  at  his  side. 


52    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

XL. 

He  leaned  above  the  ledge.     Below 
He  saw  the  black  ship  idly  cruise, — 
A  midge  below,  a  mile  below. 
His  limbs  were  knotted  as  the  thews 
Of  Hercules  in  his  death-throe. 

The  flame  !  the  flame  !  the  envious  flame  ! 
She  wound  her  arms,  she  wound  her  hair 
About  his  tall  form,  grand  and  bare, 
To  stay  the  fierce  flame  where  it  came. 

The  black  ship,  like  some  moonlit  wreck, 
Below  along  the  burning  sea 
Crept  on  and  on  all  silently, 
With  silent  pygmies  on  her  deck. 

That  midge-like  ship  far,  far  below ; 
That  mirage  lifting  from  the  hill ! 
His  flame-lit  form  began  to  grow,  — 
To  grow  and  grow  more  grandly  still. 
The  ship  so  small,  that  form  so  tall, 
It  grew  to  tower  over  all. 

A  tall  Colossus,  bronze  and  gold, 
As  if  that  flame-lit  form  were  he 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  53 

Who  once  bestrode  the  Ehodian  sea, 
And  ruled  the  watery  world  of  old: 
As  if  the  lost  Colossus  stood 
Above  that  burning  sea  of  wood. 

And  she,  that  shapely  form  upheld, 
Held  high,  as  if  to  touch  the  sky, 
What  airy  shape,  how  shapely  high,  — 
A  goddess  of  the  seas  of  eld ! 

Her  hand  upheld,  her  high  right  hand, 
As  if  she  would  forget  the  land; 
As  if  to  gather  stars,  and  heap 
The  stars  like  torches  there  to  light 
Her  Hero's  path  across  the  deep 
To  some  far  isle  that  fearful  night. 

It  was  as  if  Colossus  came, 

Came  proudly  reaching  from  the  flame 

Above  the  sea  in  sheen  of  gold, 

His  sea-bride  leaping  from  his  hold  ; 

The  lost  Colossus,  and  his  bride 

In  bronze  perfection  at  his  side : 

As  if  the  lost  Colossus  came 


54         SONGS   OF  TEE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Companioned  from  the  past,  his  bride 
With  torch  all  faithful  at  his  side  : 

With  star-tipped  torch  that  reached  and  rolled 

Through  cloud-built  corridors  of  gold  : 

His  bride,  austere  and  stern  and  grand,  — 

Bartholdi's  goddess  by  the  sea, 

Far  lifting,  lighting  Liberty 

From  prison  seas  to  Freedom's  land. 


XLI. 

The  flame  !  the  envious  flame,  it  leapt 
Enraged  to  see  such  majesty, 
Such  scorn  of  death  ;  such  kingly  scorn. 
Then  like  some  lightning-riven  tree 
They  sank  down  in  that  flame  —  and  slept 
And  all  was  hushed  above  that  steep 
So  still,  that  they  might  sleep  and  sleep ; 
As  still  as  when  a  day  is  born. 

At  last !  from  out  the  embers  leapt 
Two  shafts  of  light  above  the  night,  — 
Two  wings  of  flame  that  lifting  swept 
In  steady,  calm,  and  upward  flight; 


THE  SEA   OF  FIRE.  55 

Two  wings  of  flame  against  the  white 
Far-lifting,  tranquil,  snowy  cone ; 
Two  wings  of  love,  two  wings  of  light, 
Far,  far  above  that  troubled  night, 
As  mounting,  mounting  to  God's  throne. 


XLII. 

And  all  night  long  that  upward  light 

Lit  up  the  sea-cow's  bed  below  : 

The  far  sea-cows  still  calling  so 

It  seemed  as  they  must  call  all  night. 

All  night !  there  was  no  night.     Nay,  nay, 

There  was  no  night.     The  night  that  lay 

Between  that  awful  eve  and  day, — 

That  nameless  night  was  burned  away. 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER. 


PART    I. 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER. 

PART   I. 


on,  rhyme  on  in  reedy  flow, 
0  river,  rhymer  ever  sweet  ! 
The  story  of  thy  land  is  meet, 
Tlie  stars  stand  listening  to  know. 

Rhyme  on,  0  river  of  the  earth  ! 
Gray  father  of  the  dreadful  seas, 
llhyme  on  !  the  world  upon  its  knees 

Shall  yet  invoke  thy  wealth  and  worth. 

llhyme  on,  the  reed  is  at  thy  mouth, 
0  kingly  minstrel,  mighty  stream  ! 
Thy  Crescent  City,  like  a  dream, 

Hangs  in  the  heaven  of  my  South. 


60    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Rhyme  on,  rhyme  on  !  these  broken  strings 
Sing  sweetest  in  this  warm  south  wind  ; 
I  sit  thy  willow  banks  and  bind 

A  broken  harp  that  fitful  sings. 


TUB  RHYME   OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.       61 


A  ND   where  is  my  city,  sweet  blossom-sown 
"•       town? 

And  what  is  her  glory,  and  what  has  she  done  ? 

By  the  Mexican  seas  in  the  path  of  the  sun 
Sit  you  down :  in  the  crescent  of  seas  sit  you  down. 

Ay,  glory  enough  by  my  Mexican  seas  ! 
Ay,  story  enough  in  that  battle-torn  town, 
Hidden  down  in  the  crescent  of  seas,  hidden 
down 

'Mid  mantle  and  sheen  of  magnolia-strown  trees. 

But  mine  is  the  story  of  souls ;  of  a  soul 

That    bartered    God's   limitless    kingdom    for 

gold,  — 
Sold  stars  and  all  space  for  a  thing  he  could 

hold' 

In   his   palm   for   a   day,  ere   he   hid   with   the 
mole. 


62  SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

0  father  of  waters !     0  river  so  vast ! 

So  deep,  so  strong,  and  so  wondrous  wild,  — 
He  embraces  the  land  as  he  rushes  past, 

Like  a  savage  father  embracing  his  child. 

His  sea-land  is  true  and  so  valiantly  true, 
His  leaf-land  is  fair  and  so  marvellous  fair, 
His  palm-land  is  filled  with  a  perfumed  air 

Of  magnolia  blooms  to  its  dome  of  blue. 

His  rose-land  has  arbors  of  moss-swept  oak,  — 
Gray,  Druid  old  oaks  ;  and  the  moss  that  sways 

And  swings  in  the  wind  is  the  battle-smoke 
Of  duellists,  dead  in  her  storied  days. 

His  love-land  has  churches  and  bells  and  chimes ; 

His  love-land  has  altars  and  orange  flowers ; 
And  that  is  the  reason  for  all  these  rhymes,  — 

These  bells,  they  are  ringing  through  all  the 
hours ! 

His  sun-land  has  churches,  and  priests  at  prayer, 
White  nuns,  as  white  as  the  far  north  snow ; 
They  go  where  danger  may  bid  them  go,  — 

They  dare  when  the  angel  of  death  is  there. 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.       63 

His  love-land  has  ladies  so  fair,  so  fair, 

In  the  Creole  quarter,  with  great  black  eyes,  — 

So  fair  that  the  Mayor  must  keep  them  there 
Lest  troubles,  like  troubles  of  Troy,  arise. 

His  love-land  has  ladies,  with  eyes  held  down,  — 
Held  down,  because  if  they  lifted  them, 

Why,  you  would  be  lost  in  that  old  French  town, 
Though  you  held  even  to  God's  garment  hem. 

His  love-land  has  ladies  so  fair,  so  fair, 

That  they  bend  their  eyes  to  the  holy  book 

Lest  you  should  forget  yourself,  your  prayer, 
And  never  more  cease  to  look  and  to  look. 

And  these  are  the  ladies  that  no  men  see, 
And  this  is  the  reason  men  see  them  not. 

Better  their  modest  sweet  mystery,  — 
Better  by  far  than  the  battle-shot. 

And  so,  in  this  curious  old  town  of  tiles, 

The  proud  French  quarter  of  days  long  gone, 

In  castles  of  Spain  and  tumble-down  piles 
These  wonderful  ladies  live  on  and  on. 


64          SONQS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

I  sit  in  the  church  where  they  come  and  go; 

I  dream  of  glory  that  has  long  since  gone, 
Of  the  low  raised  high,  of  the  high  brought  low, 

As  in  battle-torn  days  of  Napoleon. 

These  piteous  places,  so  rich,  so  poor ! 

One  quaint  old  church  at  the  edge  of  the  town 
Has  white  tombs  laid  to  the  very  church  door,  — 

White  leaves  in  the  story  of  life  turned  down. 

White  leaves  in  the  story  of  life  are  these, 
The  low  white  slabs  in  the  long  strong  grass, 
Where  Glory  has  emptied  her  hour-glass 

And  dreams  with  the  dreamers  beneath  the  trees. 

I  dream  with  the  dreamers  beneath  the  sod, 
Where  souls  pass  by  to  the  great  white  throne ; 
I  count  each  tomb  as  a  mute  milestone 

For  weary,  sweet  souls  on  their  way  to  God. 

I  sit  all  day  by  the  vast,  strong  stream, 

'Mid  low  white  slabs  in  the  long  strong  grass 
Where  Time  has  forgotten  for  aye  to  pass, 

To  dream,  and  ever  to  dream  and  to  dream. 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE   QBE  AT  EIVEE.       65 

This  quaint  old  church  with  its  dead  to  the  door, 
By  the  cypress  swamp  at  the  edge  of  the  town, 
So  restful  seems  that  you  want  to  sit  down 

And  rest  you,  and  rest  you  for  evermore. 

And  one  white  tomb  is  a  lowliest  tomb, 

That  has  crept  up  close  to  the  crumbling  door, — 

Some  penitent  soul,  as  imploring  room 
Close  under  the  cross  that  is  leaning  o'er. 

'T  is  a  low  white  slab,  and  't  is  nameless,  too  — 
Her  untold  story,  why,  who  should  know  ? 

Yet  God,  I  reckon,  can  read  right  through 
That  nameless  stone  to  the  bosom  below. 

And  the  roses  know,  and  they  pity  her,  too ; 
They  bend  their  heads  in  the  sun  or  rain, 
And  they  read,  and  they  read,  and  then  read 
again, 

As  children  reading  strange  pictures  through. 

Why,  surely  her  sleep  it  should  be  profound  ; 

For  oh  the  apples  of  gold  above  ! 

And  oh  the  blossoms  of  bridal  love ! 
And  oh  the  roses  that  gather  around ! 
5 


66         SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

The  sleep  of  a  night,  or  a  thousand  morns  ? 

Why  what  is  the  difference  here,  to-day  ? 

Sleeping  and  sleeping  the  years  away 
With  all  earth's  roses,  and  none  of  its  thorns. 


Magnolias  white  and  the  roses  red  — 

The  palm-tree  here  and  the  cypress  there : 

Sit  down  by  the  palm  at  the  feet  of  the  dead, 
And  hear  a  penitent's  midnight  prayer. 


II. 


The  old  churchyard  is  still  as  death, 
A  stranger  passes  to  and  fro 
As  if  to  church  —  he  does  not  go  — 

The  dead  night  does  not  draw  a  breath. 


A  lone  sweet  lady  prays  within. 
The  stranger  passes  by  the  door  — 
Will  he  not  pray?     Is  he  so  poor 

He  has  no  prayer  for  his  sin  ? 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.       67 

Is  he  so  poor  !     His  two  strong  hands 
Are  full  and  heavy,  as  with  gold ; 

They  clasp,  as  clasp  two  iron  bands 
About  two  bags  with  eager  hold. 


Will  he  not  pause  and  enter  in, 
Put  down  his  heavy  load  and  rest, 

Put  off  his  garmenting  of  sin, 

As  some  black  burden  from  his  breast  ? 

Ah,  me !  the  brave  alone  can  pray. 
The  church-door  is  as  cannon's  mouth 
To  sinner  North,  or  sinner  South, 

More  dreaded  than  dread  battle  day. 

Now  two  men  pace.     They  pace  apart, 
And  one  with  youth  and  truth  is  fair ; 

The  fervid  sun  is  in  his  heart, 
The  tawny  South  is  in  his  hair. 

Ay,  two  men  pace,  pace  left  and  right  — 
The  lone,  sweet  lady  prays  within  — 

Ay,  two  men  pace :  the  silent  night 
Kneels  down  in  prayer  for  some  sin. 


68    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Lo!  two  men  pace ;  and  one  is  gray, 
A  blue-eyed  man  from  snow-clad  land, 
With  something  heavy  in  each  hand,  — 

With  heavy  feet,  as  feet  of  clay. 

Ay,  two  men  pace ;  and  one  is  light 
Of  step,  but  still  his  brow  is  dark 
His  eyes  are  as  a  kindled  spark 

That  burns  beneath  the  brow  of  night ! 

And  still  they  pace.     The  stars  are  red, 
The  tombs  are  white  as  frosted  snow  ; 

The  silence  is  as  if  the  dead 
Did  pace  in  couples,  to  and  fro. 


III. 

The  azure  curtain  of  God's  house 

Draws   back,    and    hangs    star-pinned   to 

space; 
I  hear  the  low,  large  moon  arouse, 

I  see  her  lift  her  languid  face. 

I  see  her  shoulder  up  the  east, 

Low-necked,  and  large  as  womanhood,  — 


THE  EHYME  OF  THE   QEEAT  EIVER.       C9 

Low-necked,  as  for  some  ample  feast 
Of  gods,  within  yon  orange-wood. 

She  spreads  white  palms,  she  whispers  peace,  — 
Sweet  peace  on  earth  for  evermore  ; 

Sweet  peace  for  two  beneath  the  trees, 
Sweet  peace  for  one  within  the  door. 

The  bent  stream,  like  a  scimitar 

Flashed  in  the  sun,  sweeps  on  and  on, 

Till  sheathed  like  some  great  sword  new-drawn 

In  seas  beneath  the  Carib's  star. 

The  high  moon  climbs  the  sapphire  hill, 

The  lone  sweet  lady  prays  within ; 

The  crickets  keep  a  clang  and  din  — 
They  are  so  loud,  earth  is  so  still ! 

And  two  men  glare  in  silence  there ! 
The  bitter,  jealous  hate  of  each 
Has  grown  too  deep  for  deed  or  speech  — 

The  lone,  sweet  lady  keeps  her  prayer. 

The  vast  moon  high  through  heaven's  field 
In  circling  chariot  is  rolled ; 


70         SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

The  golden  stars  are  spun  and  reeled, 
And  woven  into  cloth  of  gold. 

The  white  magnolia  fills  the  night 

With  perfume,  as  the  proud  moon  fills 

The  glad  earth  with  her  ample  light 
From  out  her  awful  sapphire  hills. 

White  orange  blossoms  fill  the  boughs 
Above,  about  the  old  church  door,  — 

They  wait  the  bride,  the  bridal  vows,  — 
They  never  hung  so  fair  before. 

The  two  men  glare  as  dark  as  sin ! 
And  yet  all  seems  so  fair,  so  white, 
You  would  not  reckon  it  was  night,  — 

The  while  the  lady  prays  within. 


IV. 


She  prays  so  very  long  and  late,  — 
The  two  men,  weary,  waiting  there, 

The  great  magnolia  at  the  gate 
Bends  drowsily  above  her  prayer. 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER.     71 

The  cypress  in  his  cloak  of  inoss, 
That  watches  on  in  silent  gloom, 

Has  leaned  and  shaped  a  shadow-cross 
Above  the  nameless,  lowly  tomb. 

What  can  she  pray  for  ?     What  her  sin  ? 

What  folly  of  a  maid  so  fair  ? 

What  shadows  bind  the  wondrous  hair 
Of  one  who  prays  so  long  within  ? 

The  palm-trees  guard  in  regiment, 

Stand  right  and  left  without  the  gate ; 
The  myrtle-moss  trees  wait  and  wait ; 

The  tall  magnolia  leans  intent. 

The  cypress  trees,  on  gnarled  old  knees, 
Far  out  the  dank  and  marshy  deep 
Where  slimy  monsters  groan  and  creep, 

Kneel  with  her  in  their  marshy  seas. 

What  can  her  sin  be  ?     Who  shall  know  ? 

The  night  flies  by,  —  a  bird  on  wing ; 
The  men  no  longer  to  and  fro 

Stride  up  and  down,  or  anything. 


72          SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

For  one  so  weary  and  so  old 

Has  hardly  strength  to  stride  or  stir; 

He  can  but  hold  his  bags  of  gold,  — 
But  hug  his  gold  and  wait  for  her. 

The  two  stand  still,  —  stand  face  to  face. 
The  moon  slides  on ;  the  midnight  air 
Is  perfumed  as  a  house  of  prayer  — 

The  maiden  keeps  her  holy  place. 

Two  men !     And  one  is  gray,  but  one 
Scarce  lifts  a  full-grown  face  as  yet : 
With  light  foot  on  life's  threshold  set,  - 

Is  he  the  other's  sun-born  son  ? 

And  one  is  of  the  land  of  snow, 
And  one  is  of  the  land  of  sun ; 
A  black-eyed  burning  youth  is  one, 

But  one  has  pulses  cold  and  slow : 

Ay,  cold  and  slow  from  clime  of  snow 
Where  Nature's  bosom,  icy  bound, 
Holds  all  her  forces,  hard,  profound,  — 

Holds  close  where  all  the  South  lets  go. 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.       73 

Blame  not  the  sun,  blame  not  the  snows ; 
God's  great  schoolhouse  for  all  is  clime, 
The  great  school-teacher,  Father  Time ; 

And  each  has  borne  as  best  he  knows. 


At  last  the  elder  speaks,  —  he  cries,  — 
He  speaks  as  if  his  heart  would  break  ; 

He  speaks  out  as  a  man  that  dies,  — 
As  dying  for  some  lost  love's  sake : 

"  Come,  take  this  bag  of  gold,  and  go ! 

Come,  take  one  bag !     See,  I  have  two ! 
Oh,  why  stand  silent,  staring  so, 

When  I  would  share  my  gold  with  you 

"  Come,  take  this  gold  !     See  how  I  pray  ! 

See  how  I  bribe,  and  beg,  and  buy,  — 
Ay,  buy !  buy  love,  as  you,  too,  may 

Some  day  before  you  come  to  die. 

"  God !  take  this  gold,  I  beg,  I  pray ! 
I  beg  as  one  who  thirsting  cries 
For  but  one  drop  of  drink,  and  dies 

In  some  lone,  loveless  desert  way. 


74    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  You  hesitate  ?     Still  hesitate  ? 

Stand  silent  stall  and  mock  my  pain  ? 
Still  mock  to  see  me  wait  and  wait, 

And  wait  her  love,  as  earth  waits  rain  ?  " 


V. 


0  broken  ship  !     0  starless  shore  ! 

0  black  and  everlasting  night, 
Where  love  comes  never  any  more 

To  light  man's  way  with  heaven's  light. 

A  godless  man  with  bags  of  gold 

1  think  a  most  unholy  sight ; 
Ah,  who  so  desolate  at  night 

Amid  death's  sleepers  still  and  cold  ? 

A  godless  man  on  holy  ground 
I  think  a  most  unholy  sight. 

I  hear  death  trailing  like  a  hound 
Hard  after  him,  and  swift  to  bite. 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.      75 

VI. 

The  vast  moon  settles  to  the  west : 
Two  men  beside  a  nameless  tomb, 

And  one  would  sit  thereon  to  rest,  — 
Ay,  rest  below,  if  there  were  room. 

What  is  this  rest  of  death,  sweet  friend  ? 

What  is  the  rising  up,  —  and  where  ? 

I  say,  death  is  a  lengthened  prayer, 
A  longer  night,  a  larger  end. 

Hear  you  the  lesson  I  once  learned : 

I  died ;  I  sailed  a  million  miles 

Through  dreamful,  flowery,  restful  isles,  — 
She  was  not  there,  and  I  returned. 

I  say  the  shores  of  death  and  sleep 

Are  one  ;  that  when  we,  wearied,  come 
To  Lethe's  waters,  and  lie  dumb, 

'T  is  death,  not  sleep,  holds  us  to  keep. 

Yea,  we  lie  dead  for  need  of  rest 
And  so  the  soul  drifts  out  and  o'er 
The  vast  still  waters  to  the  shore 

Beyond,  in  pleasant,  tranquil  quest : 


76    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

It  sails  straight  on,  forgetting  pain, 
Past  isles  of  peace,  to  perfect  rest,  — 
'  Now  were  it  best  abide,  or  best 
Keturn  and  take  up  life  again  ? 

And  that  is  all  of  death  there  is, 
Believe  me.     If  you  find  your  love 
In  that  far  land,  then  like  the  dove 

Abide,  and  turn  not  back  to  this. 

But  if  you  find  your  love  not  there ; 
Or  if  your  feet  feel  sure,  and  you 
Have  still  allotted  work  to  do, — 

Why,  then  return  to  toil  and  care. 

Death  is  no  mystery.     'T  is  plain 
If  death  be  mystery,  then  sleep 
Is  mystery  thrice  strangely  deep,  — 

For  oh  this  coming  back  again ! 

Austerest  ferryman  of  souls ! 
I  see  the  gleam  of  solid  shores, 
I  hear  thy  steady  stroke  of  oars 

Above  the  wildest  wave  that  rolls. 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.       77 

O  Charon,  keep  thy  sombre  ships ! 

We  come,  with  neither  myrrh  nor  balm, 

Nor  silver  piece  in  open  palm, 
But  lone  white  silence  on  our  lips. 


VII. 

She  prays  so  long !  she  prays  so  late ! 
What  sin  in  all  this  flower-land 
Against  her  supplicating  hand 

Could  have  in  heaven  any  weight  ? 

Prays  she  for  her  sweet  self  alone  ? 
Prays  she  for  some  one  far  away, 
Or  some  one  near  and  dear  to-day, 

Or  some  poor,  lorn,  lost  soul  unknown  ? 

It  seems  to  me  a  selfish  thing 
To  pray  forever  for  one's  self ; 
It  seems  to  me  like  heaping  pelf 

In  heaven  by  hard  reckoning. 

Why,  I  would  rather  stoop,  and  bear 
My  load  of  sin,  and  bear  it  well 
And  bravely  down  to  burning  hell, 

Than  ever  pray  one  selfish  prayer  ! 


78         SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

VIII. 

The  swift  chameleon  in  the  gloom  — 
This  silence  it  is  so  profound !  — 
Forsakes  its  bough,  glides  to  the  ground, 

Then  up,  and  lies  across  the  tomb. 

It  erst  was  green  as  olive-leaf , 
It  then  grew  gray  as  myrtle  moss 
The  time  it  slid  the  moss  across ; 

But  now  't  is  marble- white  with  grief. 

The  little  creature's  hues  are  gone  ; 
Here  in  the  pale  and  ghostly  light 
It  lies  so  pale,  so  panting  white,  — 

White  as  the  tomb  it  lies  upon. 

The  two  men  by  that  nameless  tomb, 

And  both  so  still !     You  might  have  said 
These  two  men,  they  are  also  dead, 

And  only  waiting  here  for  room. 

How  still  beneath  the  orange-bough ! 
How  tall  was  one,  how  bowed  was  one  J 
The  one  was  as  a  journey  done, 

The  other  as  beginning  now. 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.       79 

And  one  was  young,  —  young  with  that  youth 
Eternal  that  belongs  to  truth  ; 
And  one  was  old,  —  old  with  the  years 
That  follow  fast  on  doubts  and  fears. 

And  yet  the  habit  of  command 

Was  his,  in  every  stubborn  part ; 

No  common  knave  was  he  at  heart, 
Nor  his  the  common  coward's  hand. 

He  looked  the  young  man  in  the  face, 

So  full  of  hate,  so  frank  of  hate ; 
The  other,  standing  in  his  place, 

Stared  back  as  straight  and  hard  as  fate. 

And  now  he  sudden  turned  away, 
And  now  he  paced  the  path,  and  now 

Came  back,  beneath  the  orange-bougli 
Pale-browed,  with  lips  as  cold  as  clay. 

As  mute  as  shadows  on  a  wall, 
As  silent  still,  as  dark  as  they, 
Before  that  stranger,  bent  and  gray, 

The  youth  stood  scornful,  proud,  and  tall. 


80         SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

He  stood,  a  tall  palmetto-tree 

With  Spanish  daggers  guarding  it ; 
Nor  deed,  nor  word,  to  him  seemed  fit 

While  she  prayed  on  so  silently. 

He  slew  his  rival  with  his  eyes  ; 

His  eyes  were  daggers  piercing  deep, — 
So  deep  that  blood  began  to  creep 

From  their  deep  wounds  and  drop  wordwise 

His  eyes  so  black,  so  bright  that  they 
Might  raise  the  dead,  the  living  slay, 
If  but  the  dead,  the  living,  bore 
Such  hearts  as  heroes  had  of  yore : 

Two  deadly  arrows  barbed  in  black, 
And  feathered,  too,  with  raven's  wing ; 
Two  arrows  that  could  silent  sting, 

And  with  a  death-wound  answer  back. 

How  fierce  he  was  !  how  deadly  still 
In  that  mesmeric,  hateful  stare 
Turned  on  the  pleading  stranger  there 

That  drew  to  him,  despite  his  will : 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER.       81 

So  like  a  bird  down-fluttering, 

Down,  down,  beneath  a  snake's  bright  eyes, 
He  stood,  a  fascinated  thing, 

That  hopeless,  unresisting,  dies. 

He  raised  a  hard  hand  as  before, 
Reached  out  the  gold,  and  offered  it 
With  hand  that  shook  as  ague-fit,  — 

The  while  the  youth  but  scorned  the  more. 

'  You  will  not  touch  it  ?     In  God's  name 

Who  are  you,  and  what  are  you,  then  ? 
Come,  take  this  gold,  and  be  of  men,  — 
A  human  form  with  human  aim. 

"  Yea,  take  this  gold,  —  she  must  be  mine 
She  shall  be  mine  !  I  do  not  fear 
Your  scowl,  your  scorn,  your  soul  austere, 
The  living,  dead,  or  your  dark  sign. 

"  I  saw  her  as  she  entered  there ; 
I  saw  her,  and  uncovered  stood  : 
The  perfume  of  her  womanhood 
Was  holy  incense  on  the  air. 


82          SONGS   OF   THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  She  left  behind  sweet  sanctity, 
Keligion  lay  the  way  she  went ; 
I  cried  I  would  repent,  repent ! 
She  passed  on,  all  unheeding  me. 

"  Her  soul  is  young,  her  eyes  are  bright 
And  gladsome,  as  mine  own  are  dim  ; 
But,  oh,  I  felt  my  senses  swim 
The  time  she  passed  me  by  to-night !  — 

"  The  time  she  passed,  nor  raised  her  eyes 

To  hear  me  cry  I  would  repent, 
Nor  turned  her  head  to  hear  my  cries, 
But  swifter  went  the  way  she  went,  — 

"  Went  swift  as  youth,  for  all  these  years ! 
And  this  the  strangest  thing  appears, 
That  lady  there  seems  just  the  same,  — 
Sweet  Gladys  —     Ah  !  you  know  her  name  ? 

"  You  hear  her  name  and  start  that  I 

Should  name  her  dear  name  trembling  so  ? 
Why,  boy,  when  I  shall  come  to  die 
That  name  shall  be  the  last  I  know. 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.       83 

"  That  name  shall  be  the  last  sweet  name 

My  lips  shall  utter  in  this  life ! 
That  name  is  brighter  than  bright  flame, — 
That  lady  is  my  wedded  wife ! 

"  Ah,  start  and  catch  your  burning  breath ! 
Ah,  start  and  clutch  your  deadly  knife  ! 
If  this  be  death,  then  be  it  death,  — 
But  that  loved  lady  is  my  wife ! 

"  Yea,  you  are  stunned !  your  face  is  white, 

That  I  should  come  confronting  you, 
As  comes  a  lorn  ghost  of  the  night 
From  out  the  past,  and  to  pursue. 

"  You  thought  me  dead  ?     You  shake  your  head, 

You  start  back  horrified  to  know 
That  she  is  loved,  that  she  is  wed, 
That  you  have  sinned  in  loving  so. 

"  Yet  what  seems  strange,  that  lady  there, 
Housed  in  the  holy  house  of  prayer, 
Seems  just  the  same  for  all  her  tears,  — 
For  all  my  absent  twenty  years. 


84         SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  Yea,  twenty  years  to-night,  to-night, 
Just  twenty  years  this  day,  this  hour, 
Since  first  I  plucked  that  perfect  flower, 
And  not  one  witness  of  the  rite. 


"  Nay,  do  not  doubt,  —  I  tell  you  true  ! 
Her  prayers,  her  tears,  her  constancy 
Are  all  for  me,  are  all  for  me,  — 
And  not  one  single  thought  for  you  ! 

"  I  knew,  I  knew  she  would  be  here 

This  night  of  nights  to  pray  for  me ! 
And  how  could  I  for  twenty  year 
Know  this  same  night  so  certainly  ? 

"  Ah  me !  some  thoughts  that  we  would  drown 
Stick  closer  than  a  brother  to 
The  conscience,  and  pursue,  pursue 
Like  baying  hound  to  hunt  us  down. 

"  And  then,  that  date  is  history ; 

For  on  that  night  this  shore  was  shelled, 
And  many  a  noble  mansion  felled, 
With  many  a  noble  family. 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.      85 

"  I  wore  the  blue ;  I  watched  the  flight 

Of  shells  like  stars  tossed  through  the  air 
To  blow  your  hearth-stones  —  anywhere, 
That  wild,  illuminated  night. 

"  Nay,  rage  befits  you  not  so  well : 

Why,  you  were  but  a  babe  at  best, 
Your  cradle  some  sharp  bursted  shell 
That  tore,  maybe,  your  mother's  breast ! 

"  Hear  me !     We  came  in  honored  war. 
The  risen  world  was  on  your  track ! 
The  whole  North-land  was  at  our  back, 
From  Hudson's  bank  to  the  North  star ! 

"  And  from  the  North  to  palm-set  sea 
The  splendid  fiery  cyclone  swept. 
Your  fathers  fell,  your  mothers  wept, 
Their  nude  babes  clinging  to  the  knee. 

"  A  wide  and  desolated  track  : 
Behind,  a  path  of  ruin  lay ; 
Before,  some  women  by  the  way 
Stood  mutely  gazing,  clad  in  black. 


86    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  From  silent  women  waiting  there 

Some  tears  came  down  like  still  small  rain  ; 
Their  own  sons  on  the  battle  plain 
Were  now  but  viewless  ghosts  of  air. 

"  Their  own  dear  daring  boys  in  gray,  — 
They  should  not  see  them  any  more  ; 
Our  cruel  drums  kept  telling  o'er 
The  time  their  own  sons  went  away. 

"  Through  burning  town,  by  bursting  shell  — 
Yea,  I  remember  well  that  night ; 
I  led  through  orange-lanes  of  light, 
As  through  some  hot  outpost  of  hell ! 

That  night  of  rainbow-shot  and  shell 
Sent  from  your  surging  river's  breast 
To  waken  me,  no  more  to  rest, — 

That  night  I  should  remember  well ! 

That  night  amid  the  maimed  and  dead,  — 
A  night  in  history  set  down 
By  light  of  many  a  burning  town, 

And  written  all  across  in  red,  — 


THE  RHYME  OF  TEE  GREAT  RIVER.     87 

"  Her  father  dead,  her  brothers  dead, 

Her  home  in  flames,  —  what  else  could  she 
But  fly  all  helpless  here  to  me, 
A  fluttered  dove,  that  night  of  dread  ? 

"  Short  time,  hot  time  had  I  to  woo 
Amid  the  red  shells'  battle-chime  ; 
But  women  rarely  reckon  time, 
And  perils  speed  their  love  when  true. 

"  And  then  I  wore  a  captain's  sword  ; 
And,  too,  had  oftentime  before 
Doffed  cap  at  her  dead  father's  door, 
And  passed  a  soldier's  pleasant  word. 

"  And  then  —  ah,  I  was  comely  then  ! 
I  bore  no  load  upon  my  back, 
I  heard  no  hounds  upon  my  track, 
But  stood  the  tallest  of  tall  men. 

"  Her  father's  and  her  mother's  shrine, 
This  church  amid  the  orange  wood, 
So  near  and  so  secure  it  stood, 
It  seemed  to  beckon  as  a  sign. 


38         SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  Its  white  cross  seemed  to  beckon  me : 

My  heart  was  strong,  and  it  was  mine 
To  throw  myself  upon  my  knee, 
To  beg  to  lead  her  to  this  shrine. 

"  She  did  consent.     Through  lanes  of  light 
I  led  through  that  church-door  that  night  — 
Let  fall  your  hand !     Take  back  your  face 
And  stand,  —  stand  patient  in  your  place ! 

"  She  loved  me ;  and  she  loves  me  still. 
Yea,  she  clung  close  to  me  that  hour 
As  honey-bee  to  honey-flower,  — 
And  still  is  mine,  through  good  or  ill 

"  The  priest  stood  there.     He  spake  the  prayer ; 
He  made  the  holy,  mystic  sign. 
And  she  was  mine,  was  wholly  mine,  — 
Is  mine  this  moment  I  will  swear  ! 

"  Then  days,  then  nights,  of  vast  delight,  — 
Then  came  a  doubtful,  later  day ; 
The  faithful  priest,  now  far  away, 
Watched  with  the  dying  in  the  fight : 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.       89 

"  The  priest  amid  the  dying,  dead, 
Kept  duty  on  the  battle-field ,  — 
That  midnight  marriage  unrevealed 
Kept  strange  thoughts  running  through  my  head. 

"  At  last  a  stray  ball  struck  the  priest : 
This  vestibule  his  chancel  was. 
And  now  none  lived  to  speak  her  cause, 
Kecord,  or  champion  her  the  least. 

"  Hear  me !     I  had  been  bred  to  hate 

All  priests,  their  mummeries  and  all. 
Ah,  it  was  fate,  —  ah,  it  was  fate 
That  all  things  tempted  me  to  fall ! 

"  And  then  the  rattling  songs  we  sang 
Those  nights  when  rudely  revelling,  — 
The  songs  that  only  soldiers  sing,  — 
Until  the  very  tent-poles  rang ! 

"  What  is  the  rhyme  that  rhymers  say 
Of  maidens  born  to  be  betrayed 
By  epaulettes  and  shining  blade, 
While  soldiers  love  and  ride  away  ? 


90    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  And  then  my  comrades  spake  her  name 
Half  taunting,  with  a  touch  of  shame  ; 
Taught  me  to  hold  that  lily-flower 
As  some  light  pastime  of  the  hour. 

"  And  then  the  ruin  in  the  land, 

The  death,  dismay,  the  lawlessness  ! 
Men  gathered  gold  on  every  hand,  — 
Heaped  gold  :  and  why  should  I  do  less  ? 

"  The  cry  for  gold  was  in  the  air, 

For  Creole  gold,  for  precious  things ; 

The  sword  kept  prodding  here  and  there 

Through  bolts  and  sacred  fastenings. 

" '  Get  gold  !  get  gold ! '     This  was  the  cry. 
And  I  loved  gold.     What  else  could  I 
Or  you,  or  any  earnest  one 
Born  in  this  getting  age  have  done  ? 

"  With  this  one  lesson  taught  from  youth, 

And  ever  taught  us,  to  get  gold,  — 

To  get  and  hold,  and  ever  hold,  — 

What  else  could  I  have  done,  forsooth  ? 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GEE  AT  EIVER.       91 

"  She,  seeing  how  I  sought  for  gold,  — 
This  girl,  my  wife,  one  late  night  told 
Of  treasures  hidden  close  at  hand, 
In  her  dead  father's  mellow  land : 

"  Of  gold  she  helped  her  brothers  hide 

Beneath  a  broad  banana  tree, 
The  day  the  two  in  battle  died,  — 
The  night  she  dying  fled  to  me. 

"  It  seemed  too  good ;  I  laughed  to  scorn 

Her  trustful  tale.     She  answered  not ; 
But  meekly  on  the  morrow  morn 

Two  massive  bags  of  bright  gold  brought. 

"  And  when  she  brought  this  gold  to  me, 
Ked  Creole  gold,  rich,  rare,  and  old,  — 
When  I  at  last  had  gold,  sweet  gold, 
I  cried  in  very  ecstasy ! 

"  Ked  gold  !  rich  gold  !  two  bags  of  gold ! 
The  two  stout  bags  of  gold  she  brought 
And  gave  with  scarce  a  second  thought,  — 
Why,  her  two  hands  could  hardly  hold ! 


92    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  Now  I  had  gold  !  two  bags  of  gold  ! 
Two  wings  of  gold  to  fly,  and  fly 
The  wide  world's  girth ;  red  gold  to  hold 
Against  my  heart  for  aye  and  aye ! 

"  My  country's  lesson :  '  Gold  !  get  gold  ! ' 
I  learned  it  well  in  land  of  snow ; 
And  what  can  glow,  so  brightly  glow, 
Long  winter  nights  of  Northern  cold  ? 

"  Ay,  now  at  last,  at  last  I  had 

The  one  thing,  all  fair  things  above 
My  land  had  taught  me  most  to  love! 
A  miser  now !  and  I  grew  mad. 

"  With  those  two  bags  of  gold  my  own, 
I  then  began  to  plan  that  night 
For  flight,  for  far  and  sudden  flight,  — 
For  flight ;  and,  too,  for  flight  alone. 

"  I  feared !  I  feared !     My  heart  grew  cold, 
Some  one  might  claim  this  gold  of  me ! 
I  feared  her,  —  feared  her  purity, 
Feared  all  things  but  my  bags  of  gold. 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER.       93 

"  I  grew  to  hate  her  face,  her  creed,  — 

That  face  the  fairest  ever  yet 
That  bowed  o'er  holy  cross  or  bead, 
Or  yet  was  in  God's  image  set. 

"  I  fled,  —  nay,  not  so  knavish  low 
As  you  have  fancied,  did  I  fly ; 
I  sought  her  at  that  shrine,  and  I 
Told  her  full  frankly  I  should  go. 

"  I  stood  a  giant  in  my  power,  — 
And  did  she  question  or  dispute  ? 
I  stood  a  savage,  selfish  brute,  — 
She  bowed  her  head,  a  lily-flower. 

"And  when  I  sudden  turned  to  go, 

And  told  her  I  should  come  no  more, 
She  bowed  her  head  so  low,  so  low, 
Her  vast  black  hair  fell  pouring  o'er. 

"  And  that  was  all ;  her  splendid  face 

Was  mantled  from  me,  and  her  night 
Of  hair  half  hid  her  from  my  sight 
As  she  fell  moaning  in  her  place. 


94         SONGS   OF   THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  And  there,  'mid  her  dark  night  of  hair, 

She  sobbed,  low  moaning  through  her  tears, 
That  she  would  wait,  wait  all  the  years,  - 
Would  wait  and  pray  in  her  despair. 

"  Nay,  did  not  murmur,  not  deny,  — 
She  did  not  cross  me  one  sweet  word ! 
I  turned  and  fled :  I  thought  I  heard 
A  night-bird's  piercing  low  death-cry !  " 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER. 

PART  II. 

fJO  W  soft  this  moonlight  of  the  South  ! 

How  sweet  my  South  in  soft  moonlight  I 
I  ivant  to  kiss  her  warm  sweet  mouth 
As  she  lies  sleeping  here  to-night. 

How  still !  I  do  not  hear  a  mouse. 

I  see  some  bursting  buds  appear ; 

I  hear  God  in  His  garden,  —  hear 
Him  trim  some  flowers  for  His  house. 

I  Jiear  some  singing  stars  ;  the  mouth 
Of  my  vast  river  sings  and  sings, 
And  pipes  on  reeds  of  pleasant  things,  — 

Of  splendid  promise  for  my  South : 


96    SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

My  great  South-woman,  soon  to  rise 
And  tiptoe  up  and  loose  her  hair  ; 

Tiptoe,  and  take  from  all  the  skies 

God's  stars  and  glorious  moon  to  wear  ! 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER.       97 


I. 


HPHE  poet  shall  create  or  kill, 

Bid  heroes  live,  bid  braggarts  die. 
I  look  against  a  lurid  sky,  — 

My  silent  South  lies  proudly  still. 

The  lurid  light  of  burning  lands 

Still  climbs  to  God's  house  overhead ; 

Mute  women  wring  white  withered  hands ; 
Their  eyes  are  red,  their  skies  are  red. 

Poor  man  !  still  boast  your  bitter  wars ! 

Still  burn  and  burn,  and  burning  die. 
But  God's  white  finger  spins  the  stars 

In  calm  dominion  of  the  sky. 

And  not  one  ray  of  light  the  less 

Comes  down  to  bid  the  grasses  spring ; 
No  drop  of  dew  nor  anything 

Shall  fail  for  all  your  bitterness. 

7 


98         SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

The  land  that  nursed  a  nation's  youth, 
Ye  burned  it,  sacked  it,  sapped  it  dry. 

Ye  gave  it  falsehoods  for  its  truth, 
And  fame  was  fashioned  from  a  lie. 

If  man  grows  large,  is  God  the  less  ? 
The  moon  shall  rise  and  set  the  same, 
The  great  sun  spill  his  splendid  flame 

And  clothe  the  world  in  queenliness. 

And  from  that  very  soil  ye  trod 

Some  large-souled  seeing  youth  shall  come 
Some  day,  and  he  shall  not  he  dumb 

Before  the  awful  court  of  God. 


II. 

The  weary  moon  had  turned  away, 
The  far  North-Star  was  turning  pale 
To  hear  the  stranger's  boastful  tale 

Of  blood  and  flame  that  battle  day. 

And  yet  again  the  two  men  glared, 
Close  face  to  face  above  that  tomb ; 
Each  seemed  as  jealous  of  the  room 

The  other  eager  waiting  shared. 


TEE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER.       99 

Again  the  man  began  to  say,  — 
As  taking  up  some  broken  thread, 
As  talking  to  the  patient  dead,  — 

The  Creole  was  as  still  as  they : 

"  That  night  we  burned  yon  grass-grown  town, — 

The  grasses,  vines  are  reaching  up ; 
The  ruins  they  are  reaching  down, 

As  sun-browned  soldiers  when  they  sup. 

"  I  knew  her,  —  knew  her  constancy. 
She  said,  this  night  of  every  year 
She  here  would  come,  and  kneeling  here, 
Would  pray  the  live-long  night  for  me. 

"  This  praying  seems  a  splendid  thing  ! 
It  drives  old  Time  the  other  way ; 
It  makes  him  lose  all  reckoning 
Of  years  that  pagans  have  to  pay. 

"  This  praying  seems  a  splendid  thing ! 
It  makes  me  stronger  as  she  prays  — 
But  oh  the  bitter,  bitter  days 
When  I  became  a  banished  thing ! 


100   SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  I  fled,  took  ship,  —  I  fled  as  far 
As  far  ships  drive  tow'rd  the  North-Star ; 
For  I  did  hate  the  South,  the  sun 
That  made  me  think  what  I  had  done. 


"  I  could  not  see  a  fair  palm-tree 
In  foreign  land,  in  pleasant  place, 
But  it  would  whisper  of  her  face 
And  shake  its  keen  sharp  blades  at  ine. 

"  Each  black-eyed  woman  would  recall 
A  lone  church-door,  a  face,  a  name, 
A  coward's  flight,  a  soldier's  shame  : 
I  fled  from  woman's  face,  from  all. 

"  I  hugged  my  gold,  my  precious  gold, 

Within  my  strong,  stout,  buckskin  vest. 
I  wore  my  bags  against  my  breast 
So  close  I  felt  my  heart  grow  cold. 

"  I  did  not  like  to  see  it  now ; 

I  did  not  spend  one  single  piece. 
I  travelled,  travelled  without  cease 
As  far  as  Eussian  ship  could  plow. 


THE  RHYME   OF  TEE   GREAT  RIVER.     101 

"  And  when  my  own  scant  hoard  was  gone, 
And  I  had  reached  the  far  North-land, 
I  took  my  two  stout  bags  in  hand 
As  one  pursued,  and  journeyed  on. 

"  Ah,  I  was  weary  !  I  grew  gray ; 
I  felt  the  fast  years  slip  and  reel 
As  slip  black  beads  when  maidens  kneel 
At  altars  when  out-door  is  gay. 

"  At  last  I  fell  prone  in  the  road,  — 
Fell  fainting  with  my  cursed  load. 
A  skin-clad  cossack  helped  me  bear 
My  bags,  nor  would  one  shilling  share. 

"  He  looked  at  me  with  proud  disdain,  — 
He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  knew ; 
His  black  eyes  burned  me  thro'  and  thro' ; 
His  scorn  pierced  like  a  deadly  pain. 

"  He  frightened  me  with  honesty ; 
He  made  me  feel  so  small,  so  base, 
I  fled,  as  if  the  fiend  kept  chase,  — 
The  fiend  that  claims  my  company ! 


102       SONOS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  I  bore  my  load  alone ;  I  crept 
Far  up  the  steep  and  icy  way  ; 
And  there,  before  a  cross  there  lay 
A  barefoot  priest,  who  bowed  and  wept. 

"  I  threw  my  gold  right  down  and  sped 

Straight  on.     And  oh  my  heart  was  light ! 
A  spring-time  bird  in  spring-time  flight 
Flies  not  so  happy  as  I  fled. 

"  I  felt  somehow  this  monk  would  take 
My  gold,  my  load  from  off  my  back ; 
Would  turn  the  fiend  from  off  my  track, 
Would  take  my  gold  for  sweet  Christ's  sake ! 

"  I  fled ;  I  did  not  look  behind ; 
I  fled,  fled  with  the  mountain  wind. 
At  last,  far  down  the  mountain's  base 
I  found  a  pleasant  resting-place. 

"  I  rested  there  so  long,  so  well, 
More  grateful  than  all  tongues  can  tell. 
It  was  such  pleasant  thing  to  hear 
That  valley's  voices  calm  and  clear : 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.     1Q3 

"  That  valley  veiled  in  mountain  air, 

With  white  goats  on  the  hills  at  morn ; 
That  valley  green  with  seas  of  corn, 
With  cottage  islands  here  and  there. 

"  I  watched  the  mountain  girls.     The  hay 
They  mowed  was  not  more  sweet  than  they ; 
They  laid  brown  hands  in  my  white  hair ; 
They  marvelled  at  my  face  of  care. 

"  I  tried  to  laugh ;  I  could  but  weep. 
I  made  these  peasants  one  request,  — 
That  I  with  them  might  toil  or  rest, 
And  with  them  sleep  the  long,  last  sleep. 

"  I  begged  that  I  might  battle  there, 
For  that  fair  valley-land,  for  those 
Who  gave  me  cheer  when  girt  with  foes, 
And  have  a  country,  loved  and  fair. 

"  Where  is  that  spot  that  poets  name 

Our  country  ?  name  the  hallowed  land  ? 
AY  here  is  that  spot  where  man  must  stand 
Or  fall  when  girt  with  sword  and  flame  ? 


104         SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  Where  is  that  one  permitted  spot  ? 

Where  is  the  one  place  man  must  fight  ? 
Where  rests  the  one  God-given  right 
To  fight,  as  ever  patriots  fought  ? 

"  I  say  't  is  in  that  holy  house 

Where  God  first  set  us  down  on  earth : 
Where  mother  welcomed  us  at  birth, 
And  bared  her  breasts,  a  happy  spouse. 

"  But  when  some  wrong,  some  deed  of  shame, 
Shall  make  that  land  no  more  our  own  — 
Ah  !  hunger  for  that  holy  name 
My  country,  I  have  truly  known ! 

"  The  simple  plough-boy  from  his  field 

Looks  forth.     He  sees  God's  purple  wall 
Encircling  him.     High  over  all 
The  vast  sun  wheels  his  shining  shield. 

"  This  King,  who  makes  earth  what  it  is,  — 
King  David  bending  to  his  toil ! 
O  lord  and  master  of  the  soil, 
How  envied  in  thy  loyal  bliss ! 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER.     105 

"  Long  live  the  land  we  loved  in  youth, — 
That  world  with  blue  skies  bent  about, 
Where  never  entered  ugly  doubt ! 
Long  live  the  simple,  homely  truth ! 

"  Can  true  hearts  love  some  far  snow-land, 
Some  bleak  Alaska  bought  with  gold  ? 
God's  laws  are  old  as  love  is  old ; 
And  Home  is  something  near  at  hand. 


"  Yea,  change  yon  river's  course ;  estrange 
The  seven  sweet  stars ;  make  hate  divide 
The  full  moon  from  the  flowing  tide,  — 
But  this  old  truth  ye  cannot  change. 

"  I  begged  a  land  as  begging  bread ; 

I  begged  of  these  brave  mountaineers 
To  share  their  sorrows,  share  their  tears ; 
To  weep  as  they  wept,  with  their  dead. 

"  They  did  consent.     The  mountain  town 

Was  mine  to  love,  and  valley  lands. 
That  night  the  barefoot  monk  came  down 
And  laid  my  two 


106       SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  On !  On !     And  oh  the  load  I  bore ! 

Why,  once  I  dreamed  my  soul  was  lead ; 
Dreamed  once  it  was  a  body  dead ! 
It  made  my  cold,  hard  bosom  sore. 

"  I  dragged  that  body  forth  and  back  — 
O  conscience,  what  a  baying  hound  ! 
Nor  frozen  seas  nor  frosted  ground 
Can  throw  this  bloodhound  from  his  track. 


"In  farthest  Eussia  I  lay  down 
A  dying  man,  at  last  to  rest ; 
I  felt  such  load  upon  my  breast 
As  seamen  feel,  who  sinking  drown. 

"  That  night,  all  chill  and  desperate, 
I  sprang  up,  for  I  could  not  rest ; 
I  tore  the  two  bags  from  my  breast, 
And  dashed  them  in  the  burning  grate. 

"  I  then  crept  back  into  my  bed ; 

I  tried,  I  begged,  I  prayed  to  sleep ; 
But  those  red,  restless  coins  would  keep 
Slow  dropping,  dropping,  and  blood  red. 


TEE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.     107 

"  I  heard  them  clink  and  clink  and  clink,  — 

They  turned,  they  talked  within  that  grate. 
They  talked  of  her ;  they  made  me  think 
Of  one  who  still  must  pray  and  wait. 

"  And  when  the  bags  burned  crisp  and  black, 

Two  coins  did  start,  roll  to  the  floor,  — 
Koll  out,  roll  on,  and  then  roll  back, 
As  if  they  needs  must  journey  more. 

"  Ah,  then  I  knew  nor  change  nor  space, 

Nor  all  the  drowning  years  that  rolled 
Could  hide  from  me  her  haunting  face, 
Nor  still  that  red-tongued  talking  gold. 

"  Again  I  sprang  forth  from  my  bed ! 

I  shook  as  in  an  ague  fit; 
I  clutched  that  red  gold,  burning  red, 
I  clutched,  as  if  to  strangle  it. 

"  I  clutched  it  up  —  you  hear  me,  boy  ?  — 

I  clutched  it  up  with  joyful  tears  ! 

I  clutched  it  close,  with  such  wild  joy 

I  had  not  felt  for  years  and  years ! 


108       SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

"  Such  joy !  for  I  should  now  retrace 
My  steps,  should  see  my  land,  her  face ; 
Bring  back  her  gold  this  battle  day, 
And  see  her,  see  her,  hear  her  pray ! 

"  I  brought  it  back  —  you  hear  me,  boy  ?  — 

I  clutch  it,  hold  it,  hold  it  now : 
Ked  gold,  bright  gold  that  giveth  joy 
To  all,  and  anywhere  or  how ; 

"  That  giveth  joy  to  all  but  me,  — 
To  all  but  me,  yet  soon  to  all. 
It  burns  my  hands,  it  burns !  but  she 
Shall  ope  my  hands  and  let  it  fall. 

"  For  oh  I  have  a  willing  hand 

To  give  these  bags  of  gold ;  to  see 
Her  smile  as  once  she  smiled  on  me 
Here  in  this  pleasant,  warm  palm-land ! " 

He  ceased,  he  thrust  each  hard-clenched  fist, 
He  threw  his  gold  hard  forth  again, 

As  one  impelled  by  some  mad  pain 
He  would  not  or  could  not  resist. 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.     109 

The  Creole,  scorning,  turned  away, 

As  if  he  turned  from  that  lost  thief,  — 
The  one  that  died  without  belief 

That  awful  crucifixion  day. 


III. 


Believe  in  man,  nor  turn  away. 

Lo !  man  advances  year  by  year ; 

Time  bears  him  upward,  and  his  sphere 
Of  life  must  broaden  day  by  day. 

Believe  in  man  with  large  belief ; 

The  garnered  grain  each  harvest-time 
Hath  promise,  roundness,  and  full  prime 

For  all  the  empty  chaff  and  sheaf. 

Believe  in  man  with  proud  belief : 
Truth  keeps  the  bottom  of  her  well, 

And  when  the  thief  peeps  down,  the  thief 
Peeps  back  at  him,  perpetual 


110        SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Faint  not  that  this  or  that  man  fell ; 

For  one  that  falls  a  thousand  rise 
To  lift  white  Progress  to  the  skies: 

Truth  keeps  the  bottom  of  her  well. 


Fear  not  for  man,  nor  cease  to  delve 
For  cool  sweet  truth,  with  large  belief. 

Lo !  Christ  himself  chose  only  twelve, 
Yet  one  of  these  turned  out  a  thief. 


IV. 


Down  through  the  dark  magnolia  leaves 
Where  climbs  the  rose  of  Cherokee 
Against  the  orange-blossomed  tree, 

A  loom  of  moonlight  weaves  and  weaves, 

A  loom  of  moonlight,  weaving  clothes 
From  snow-white  rose  of  Cherokee, 
And  bridal  blooms  of  orange-tree, 

For  fairy  folk  in  fragrant  rose. 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GEE  AT  RIVER.     HI 

Down  through  the  mournful  myrtle  crape, 
Through  moving  moss,  through  ghostly  gloom, 

A  long  white  moonbeam  takes  a  shape 
Above  a  nameless,  lowly  tomb ; 

A  long  white  finger  through  the  gloom 
Of  grasses  gathered  round  about,  — 
As  God's  white  finger  pointing  out 

A  name  upon  that  nameless  tomb. 


V. 


Her  white  face  bowed  in  her  black  hair, 
The  maiden  prays  so  still  within 
That  you  might  hear  a  falling  pin,  — 

Ay,  hear  her  white  unuttered  prayer. 

The  moon  has  grown  disconsolate, 

Has  turned  her  down  her  walk  of  stars 
Why,  she  is  shutting  up  her  bars, 

As  maidens  shut  a  lover's  gate. 

The  moon  has  grown  disconsolate ; 
She  will  no  longer  watch  and  wait. 


112       SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

But  two  men  wait ;  and  two  men  will 
Wait  on  till  morning,  mute  and  still : 


Still  wait  and  walk  among  the  trees, 
Quite  careless  if  the  moon  may  keep 
Her  walk  along  her  starry  steep 

Above  the  Southern  pearl-sown  seas. 


They  know  no  moon,  or  set  or  rise 
Of  stars,  or  anything  to  light 

The  earth  or  skies,  save  her  dark  eyes, 
This  praying,  waking,  watching  night. 


They  move  among  the  tombs  apart, 
Their  eyes  turn  ever  to  that  door ; 

They  know  the  worn  walks  there  by  heart 
They  turn  and  walk  them  o'er  and  o'er. 


They  are  not  wide,  these  little  walks 
For  dead  folk  by  this  crescent  town. 
They  lie  right  close  when  they  lie  down, 

As  if  they  kept  up  quiet  talks. 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   QBE  AT  RIVER.     H3 


VI. 


The  two  men  keep  their  paths  apart ; 
But  more  and  more  begins  to  stoop 
The  man  with  gold,  as  droop  and  droop 

Tall  plants  with  something  at  their  heart. 

Now  once  again  with  eager  zest 
He  offers  gold  with  silent  speech ; 
The  other  will  not  walk  in  reach, 

But  walks  around,  as  round  a  pest. 

His  dark  eyes  sweep  the  scene  around, 
His  young  face  drinks  the  fragrant  air, 
His  dark  eyes  journey  everywhere,  — 

The  other's  cleave  unto  the  ground. 

It  is  a  weary  walk  for  him, 

For  oh  he  bears  a  weary  load ! 

He  does  not  like  that  narrow  road 
Between  the  dead  —  it  is  so  dim  : 

It  is  so  dark,  that  narrow  place, 

Where  graves  lie  thick,  like  yellow  leaves 
8 


114   SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Give  us  the  light  of  Christ  and  grace, 
Give  light  to  garner  in  the  sheaves. 

Give  light  of  love ;  for  gold  is  cold, 
And  gold  is  cruel  as  a  crime ; 
It  gives  no  light  at  such  sad  time 

As  when  man's  feet  wax  weak  and  old. 

Ay,  gold  is  heavy,  hard,  and  cold ! 

And  have  I  said  this  thing  before  ? 

Well,  I  will  tell  it  o'er  and  o'er, 
'T  were  need  be  told  ten  thousand  fold. 

"  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread,"  — 
Get  this  of  God,  then  all  the  rest 
Is  housed  in  thine  own  honest  breast, 

If  you  but  lift  a  lordly  head. 


VII. 


Oh,  I  have  seen  men,  tall  and  fair, 

Stoop  down  their  manhood  with  disgust, 
Stoop  down  God's  image  to  the  dust, 

To  get  a  load  of  gold  to  bear ; 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER.     H5 

Have  seen  men  selling  day  by  day 

The  glance  of  manhood  that  God  gave : 
To  sell  God's  image  as  a  slave 

Might  sell  some  little  pot  of  clay ! 

Behold !  here  in  this  green  graveyard 

A  man  with  gold  enough  to  fill 

A  coffin,  as  a  miller's  till ; 
And  yet  his  path  is  hard,  so  hard ! 

His  feet  keep  sinking  in  the  sand, 
And  now  so  near  an  opened  grave ! 
He  seems  to  hear  the  solemn  wave 

Of  dread  oblivion  at  hand. 

The  sands,  they  grumble  so,  it  seems 
As  if  he  walks  some  shelving  brink. 
He  tries  to  stop,  he  tries  to  think, 

He  tries  to  make  believe  he  dreams : 

Why,  he  is  free  to  leave  the  land, 
The  silver  moon  is  white  as  dawn  ; 

Why,  he  has  gold  in  either  hand, 
Has  silver  ways  to  walk  upon. 


116       SONOS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

And  who  should  chide,  or  bid  him  stay  ? 

Or  taunt,  or  threat,  or  bid  him  fly  ? 
The  world 's  for  sale,  I  hear  men  say, 

And  yet  this  man  has  gold  to  buy. 

Buy  what  ?    Buy  rest  ?     He  could  not  rest ! 
Buy  gentle  sleep?    He  could  not  sleep, 
Though  all  these  graves  were  wide  and  deep 

As  their  wide  mouths  with  the  request. 

Buy  Love,  buy  faith,  buy  snow-white  truth  ? 

Buy  moonlight,  sunlight,  present,  past  ? 
Buy  but  one  brimful  cup  of  youth 

That  calm  souls  drink  of  to  the  last  ? 

0  God !  't  is  pitiful  to  see 

This  miser  so  forlorn  and  old ! 
O  God !  how  poor  a  man  may  be 

With  nothing  in  this  world  but  gold ! 


VIII. 

The  broad  magnolia's  blooms  are  white ; 

Her  blooms  are  large,  as  if  the  moon 
Had  lost  her  way  some  lazy  night, 

And  lodged  here  till  the  afternoon. 


THE  RHYME  OF  TEE   GREAT  RIVER.     H7 

Oh,  vast  white  blossoms  breathing  love ! 

White  bosom  of  my  lady  dead, 

In  your  white  heaven  overhead 
I  look,  and  learn  to  look  above. 


IX. 

All  night  the  tall  magnolia  kept 

Kind  watch  above  the  nameless  tomb : 
Two  shapes  kept  waiting  in  the  gloom 

And  gray  of  morn,  where  roses  wept. 

The  dew- wet  roses  wept ;  their  eyes 

All  dew,  their  breath  as  sweet  as  prayer. 
And  as  they  wept,  the  dead  down  there 

Did  feel  their  tears  and  hear  their  sighs. 

The  grass  uprose  as  if  afraid 

Some  stranger  foot  might  press  too  near ; 

Its  every  blade  was  like  a  spear, 
Its  every  spear  a  living  blade. 

The  grass  above  that  nameless  tomb 

Stood  all  arrayed,  as  if  afraid 
Some  weary  pilgrim  seeking  room 

And  rest,  might  lay  where  she  was  laid. 


118       SONGS   OF   THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 


'T  was  morn,  and  yet  it  was  not  morn  ; 

'T  was  morn  in  heaven,  not  on  earth,  — 

A  star  was  singing  of  a  birth, 
Just  saying  that  a  day  was  born. 

The  marsh  hard  by  that  bound  the  lake,  — 
The  great  low  sea-lake,  Ponchartrain, 
Shut  off  from  sultry  Cuban  main,  — 

Drew  up  its  legs,  as  half  awake  : 

Drew  long  stork  legs,  long  legs  that  steep 
In  slime  where  alligators  creep,  — 
Drew  long  green  legs  that  stir  the  grass, 
As  when  the  late  lorn  night-winds  pass. 

Then  from  the  marsh  came  croakings  low, 
Then  louder  croaked  some  sea-marsh  beast ; 
Then,  far  away  against  the  east, 

God's  rose  of  morn  began  to  grow. 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  GREAT  RIVER. 

From  out  the  marsh,  against  that  east, 
A  ghostly  moss-swept  cypress  stood  ; 
With  ragged  arms  above  the  wood 

It  rose,  a  God-forsaken  beast. 

It  seemed  so  frightened  where  it  rose ! 
The  moss-hung  thing  it  seemed  to  wave 
The  worn-out  garments  of  the  grave,  — 

To  wave  and  wave  its  old  grave-clothes. 

Close  by,  a  cow  rose  up  and  lowed 

From  out  a  palm-thatched  milking-shed. 

A  black  boy  on  the  river  road 

Fled  sudden,  as  the  night  had  fled : 

A  nude  black  boy,  a  bit  of  night 
That  had  been  broken  off  and  lost 
From  flying  night,  the  time  it  crossed 

The  surging  river  in  its  flight : 

A  bit  of  darkness,  following 
The  sable  night  on  sable  wing,  — 
A  bit  of  darkness  stilled  with  fear, 
Because  that  nameless  tomb  was  near. 


120       SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Then  holy  bells  came  pealing  out ; 

Then  steamboats  blew,  then  horses  neighed ; 
Then  smoke  from  hamlets  round  about 

Crept  out,  as  if  no  more  afraid. 

Then  shrill  cocks  here,  and  shrill  cocks  there, 
Stretched  glossy  necks  and  filled  the  air. 
How  many  cocks  it  takes  to  make 
A  country  morning  well  awake ! 

Then  many  boughs,  with  many  birds,  — 
Young  boughs  in  green,  old  boughs  in  gray,— 
These  birds  had  very  much  to  say 

In  their  soft,  sweet,  familiar  words. 

And  all  seemed  sudden  glad  ;  the  gloom 
Forgot  the  church,  forgot  the  tomb ; 
And  yet  like  monks  with  cross  and  bead 
The  myrtles  leaned  to  read  and  read. 

And  oh  the  fragrance  of  the  sod  ! 

And  oh  the  perfume  of  the  air ! 

The  sweetness,  sweetness  everywhere, 
That  rose  like  incense  up  to  God ! 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.  121 

I  like  a  cow's  breath  in  sweet  spring, 
I  like  the  breath  of  babes  new-born ; 

A  maid's  breath  is  a  pleasant  thing,  — 
But  oh  the  breath  of  sudden  morn ! 


Of  sudden  morn,  when  every  pore 
Of  mother  earth  is  pulsing  fast 

With  life,  and  life  seems  spilling  o'er 
With  love,  with  love  too  sweet  to  last 

Of  sudden  morn  beneath  the  sun, 

By  God's  great  river  wrapped  in  gray, 

That  for  a  space  forgets  to  run, 
And  hides  his  face  as  if  to  pray. 


XI. 


The  black-eyed  Creole  kept  his  eyes 
Turned  to  the  door,  as  eyes  might  turn 
To  see  the  holy  embers  burn 

Some  sin  away  at  sacrifice. 


122       SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

Full  dawn !  but  yet  he  knew  no  dawn, 
Nor  song  of  bird,  nor  bird  on  wing, 
Nor  breath  of  rose,  nor  anything 

Her  fair  face  lifted  not  upon. 

And  yet  he  taller  stood  with  morn ; 
His  bright  eyes,  brighter  than  before, 
Burned  fast  against  that  fastened  door, 

His  proud  lips  lifting  up  with  scorn,  — 

With  lofty,  silent  scorn  for  one 

Who  all  night  long  had  plead  and  plead, 
With  none  to  witness  but  the  dead 

How  he  for  gold  must  be  undone. 

Oh,  ye  who  feed  a  greed  for  gold, 

And  barter  truth,  and  trade  sweet  youth 

For  cold  hard  gold,  behold,  behold ! 
Behold  this  man  !  behold  this  truth  ! 


Why,  what  is  there  in  all  God's  plan 
Of  vast  creation,  high  or  low, 
By  sea  or  land,  by  sun  or  snow, 

So  mean,  so  miserly  as  man  ? 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.     ] 

Lo,  earth  and  heaven  all  let  go 

Their  garnered  riches,  year  by  year ! 

The  treasures  of  the  trackless  snow, 
Ah,  hast  thou  seen  how  very  dear  ? 

The  wide  earth  gives,  gives  golden  grain, 
Gives  fruits  of  gold,  gives  all,  gives  all ! 
Hold  forth  your  hand,  and  these  shall  fall 

In  your  full  palni  as  free  as  rain. 

Yea,  earth  is  generous.     The  trees 
Strip  nude  as  birth-time  without  fear, 
And  their  reward  is  year  by  year 

To  feel  their  fulness  but  increase. 

The  law  of  Nature  is  to  give, 
To  give,  to  give  !  and  to  rejoice 
In  giving  with  a  generous  voice, 

And  so  trust  God  and  truly  live. 

But  see  this  miser  at  the  last,  — 

This  man  who  loves,  grasps  hold  of  gold, 
Who  grasps  it  with  such  eager  hold, 

To  hold  forever  hard  and  fast : 


124       SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

As  if  to  hold  what  God  lets  go ; 
As  if  to  hold,  while  all  around 
Lets  go,  and  drops  upon  the  ground 

All  things  as  generous  as  snow. 

Let  go  your  greedy  hold,  I  say  ! 
Let  go  your  hold  !    Do  not  refuse 
'Till  death  comes  by  and  shakes  you  loose, 

And  sends  you  shamed  upon  your  way. 

What  if  the  sun  should  keep  his  gold  ? 

The  rich  moon  lock  her  silver  up  ? 

What  if  the  gold-clad  buttercup 
Became  a  miser,  mean  and  old  ? 

Ah,  me !  the  coffins  are  so  true 

In  all  accounts,  the  shrouds  so  thin, 

That  down  there  you  might  sew  and  sew, 
Nor  ever  sew  one  pocket  in. 

And  all  that  you  can  hold  of  lands 

Down  there,  below  the  grass,  down  there, 
Will  only  be  that  little  share 

You  hold  in  your  two  dust-full  hands. 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.    125 


XII. 

She  comes !  she  comes  !     The  stony  floor 
Speaks  out !     And  now  the  rusty  door 
At  last  has  just  one  word  this  day, 
With  mute  religious  lips,  to  say. 

She  comes !  she  comes  !     And  lo,  her  face 
Is  upward,  radiant,  fair  as  prayer ! 

So  pure  here  in  this  holy  place, 
Where  holy  peace  is  everywhere. 

Her  upraised  face,  her  face  of  light 
And  loveliness,  from  duty  done, 
Is  like  a  rising  orient  sun 

That  pushes  back  the  brow  of  night. 

How  brave,  how  beautiful  is  truth  ! 
Good  deeds  untold  are  like  to  this. 
But  fairest  of  all  fair  things  is 
A  pious  maiden  in  her  youth  : 

A  pious  maiden  as  she  stands 

Just  on  the  threshold  of  the  years 

That  throb  and  pulse  with  hopes  and  fears, 

And  reaches  God  her  helpless  hands. 


126       SONGS  OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

How  fair  is  she  !    How  fond  is  she ! 

Her  foot  upon  the  threshold  there. 
Her  breath  is  as  a  blossomed  tree,  — 

This  maiden  mantled  in  her  hair ! 

Her  hair,  her  black,  abundant  hair, 
Where  night,  inhabited  all  night 
And  all  this  day,  will  not  take  flight, 

But  finds  content  and  houses  there. 

Her  hands  are  clasped,  her  two  small  hands  ; 
They  hold  the  holy  book  of  prayer 
Just  as  she  steps  the  threshold  there, 

Clasped  downward  where  she  silent  stands. 


XIII. 

Once  more  she  lifts  her  lowly  face, 
And  slowly  lifts  her  large,  dark  eyes 
Of  wonder ;  and  in  still  surprise 

She  looks  full  forward  in  her  place. 

She  looks  full  forward  on  the  air 
Above  the  tomb,  and  yet  below 
The  fruits  of  gold,  the  blooms  of  snow, 

As  looking  —  looking  anywhere. 


TEE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.    127 

She  feels  —  she  knows  not  what  she  feels  ; 

It  is  not  terror,  is  not  fear, 
But  there  is  something  that  reveals 

A  presence  that  is  near  and  dear. 


She  does  not  let  her  eyes  fall  down, 
They  lift  against  the  far  profound : 

Against  the  blue  above  the  town 

Two  wide-winged  vultures  circle  round. 

Two  brown  birds  swim  above  the  sea, — 
Her  large  eyes  swim  as  dreamily 
And  follow  far,  and  follow  high, 
Two  circling  black  specks  in  the  sky. 

One  forward  step,  —  the  closing  door 
Creaks  out,  as  frightened  or  in  pain  ; 
Her  eyes  are  on  the  ground  again  — 

Two  men  are  standing  close  before. 

"  My  love,"  sighs  one,  "my  life,  my  all ! " 
Her  lifted  foot  across  the  sill 
Sinks  down,  —  and  all  things  are  so  still 
You  hear  the  orange  blossoms  fall. 


128       SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

But  fear  comes  not  where  duty  is, 

And  purity  is  peace  and  rest ; 

Her  cross  is  close  upon  her  breast, 
Her  two  hands  clasp  hard  hold  of  this. 

Her  two  hands  clasp  cross,  book,  and  she 

Is  strong  in  tranquil  purity,  — 

Ay,  strong  as  Samson  when  he  laid 

His  two  hands  forth,  and  bowed  and  prayed. 

One  at  her  left,  one  at  her  right, 
And  she  between,  the  steps  upon,  — 

I  can  but  see  that  Syrian  night, 
The  women  there  at  early  dawn 

'T  is  strange,  I  know,  and  may  be  wrong, 
But  ever  pictured  in  my  song ; 
And  rhyming  on,  I  see  the  day 
They  came  to  roll  the  stone  away. 


XIV. 

The  sky  is  like  an  opal  sea, 

The  air  is  like  the  breath  of  kine, 

But  oh  her  face  is  white,  and  she 
Leans  faint  to  see  a  lifted  sign,  — 


THE  RHYME   OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.     129 

To  see  two  hands  lift  up  and  wave 
To  see  a  face  so  white  with  woe, 
So  ghastly,  hollow,  white  as  though 

It  had  that  moment  left  the  grave. 

Her  sweet  face  at  that  ghostly  sign, 
Her  fair  face  in  her  weight  of  hair, 
Is  like  a  white  dove  drowning  there, — 

A  white  dove  drowned  in  Tuscan  wine. 

He  tries  to  stand,  to  stand  erect. 

'T  is  gold,  't  is  gold  that  holds  him  down  ! 

And  soul  and  body  both  must  drown,  — 
Two  millstones  tied  about  his  neck. 

Now  once  again  his  piteous  face 
Is  raised  to  her  face  reaching  there. 
He  prays  such  piteous,  silent  prayer 

As  prays  a  dying  man  for  grace. 

It  is  not  good  to  see  him  strain 
To  lift  his  hands,  to  gasp,  to  try 
To  speak.     His  parched  lips  are  so  dry 

Their  sight  is  as  a  living  pain. 

9 


130       SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

I  think  that  rich  man  down  in  hell 

Some  like  this  old  man  with  his  gold,  — 

To  gasp  and  gasp  perpetual 

Like  to  this  minute  I  have  told. 


XV. 

At  last  the  miser  cries  his  pain,  — 
A  shrill,  wild  cry,  as  if  a  grave 
Just  ope'd  its  stony  lips  and  gave 

One  sentence  forth,  then  closed  again. 

"  'T  was  twenty  years  last  night,  last  night !  " 
His  lips  still  moved,  but  not  to  speak ; 
His  outstretched  hands  so  trembling  weak 

Were  beggar's  hands  in  sorry  plight. 

His  face  upturned  to  hers,  his  lips 
Kept  talking  on,  but  gave  no  sound ; 
His  feet  were  cloven  to  the  ground ; 

Like  iron  hooks  his  finger-tips. 

"  Ay,  twenty  years,"  she  sadly  sighed : 
"  I  promised  mother  every  year 
That  I  would  pray  for  father  here, 

As  she  had  prayed,  the  night  she  died : 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE   GREAT  RIVER.    131 

"  To  pray  as  she  prayed,  fervidly  ; 
As  she  had  promised  she  would  pray 
The  sad  night  of  her  marriage  day, 

For  him,  wherever  he  might  be." 

Then  she  was  still ;  then  sudden  she 
Let  fall  her  eyes,  and  so  outspake 
As  if  her  very  heart  would  break, 

Her  proud  lips  trembling  piteously : 

"  And  whether  he  come  soon  or  late 
To  kneel  beside  this  nameless  grave, 

May  God  forgive  my  father's  hate 
As  I  forgive,  as  she  forgave !  " 

He  saw  the  stone ;  he  understood 

With  that  quick  knowledge  that  will  come 
Most  quick  when  men  are  made  most  dumb 

With  terror  that  stops  still  the  blood. 

And  then  a  blindness  slowly  fell 
On  soul  and  body ;  but  his  hands 
Held  tight  his  bags,  two  iron  bands, 

As  if  to  bear  them  into  hell. 


132  SONGS   OF  THE  MEXICAN  SEAS. 

He  sank  upon  the  nameless  stone 
With  oh  such  sad,  such  piteous  moan 
As  never  man  might  seek  to  know 
From  man's  most  unforgiving  foe. 

He  sighed  at  last,  so  long,  so  deep, 
As  one  heart  breaking  in  one's  sleep,  — 
One  long,  last,  weary,  willing  sigh, 
As  if  it  were  a  grace  to  die. 

And  then  his  hands,  like  loosened  bands, 
Hung  down,  hung  down  on  either  side ; 
His  hands  hung  down  and  opened  wide 

He  rested  in  the  orange  lands. 


University  Press :  John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


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